When the World Stopped Spinning
by luckless-is-me
Summary: In which Hiro's life isn't his own and Tadashi gets caught in the crossfire. AU, mild non-related Hidashi.
1. Chapter 1

**So, after leaving for nearly a year and completely giving up on writing, I fell in love with Big Hero 6 and all the amazing stories that people have come up with for the characters. And this idea weaseled its way into my brain and wouldn't leave. Sorry it couldn't have been a little lighter. **

**Also, I apologize in advance for the OOC-ness. I only saw the movie once, and I have no idea how the characters would actually act in the situation that I've created. **

**Summary: _In which Hiro's life isn't his own and Tadashi gets caught in the crossfire. AU, mild non-related Hidashi. _**

**Rating: M for violence, sexual themes/violence, and possible triggers. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Big Hero 6. I do, however, own all 5 of the original comics and the plot. **

**Here's to hoping my writing style has changed in the year I've been away? (Sorry. It hasn't). **

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day Unknown**_

* * *

_I am going to die._

He gulped at the thought, blinking at himself in the mirror, his calloused fingers digging into the floating sink in an attempt to hold himself up. His hair was a mess, pushed up this way and that. Bedhead, his aunt had always affectionately called it. But this wasn't from sleeping— and she would be so _ashamed_ if she could see him now. Red shirt puddled around his bare thighs, sticky fluids leaking down his legs and drying somewhere between his shins and his ankles. She would hate him if she knew what had happened. If he went back— if he ever made it back— she would be so upset with him. She would wish that he had never survived, that he had died here in this place. Maybe she would—

She would hug him close and kiss his forehead. She would make him cookies and cupcakes and let him have as many gummy bears as he wanted. She would sit with him and watch movies and just let him cry. Because that was his Aunt Cass and— _how am I going to do this to her?_

He sighed at himself, running his trembling fingers down the side of his face, watching his expression in the mirror. There were cracks in the glass that caused his face to fragment and contort. In one of them, his doe brown eyes were wide and desolate; in another, his bottom lip quivered between his teeth, puffing up around the gap— _Aunt Cass always wanted to fix that—_ and bleeding because he had smarted off one too many times today.

Hiro didn't want to die. He just wanted to go _home_.

He scoffed at the thought. Home. He didn't even know if it was still there or how long he had been away from that place. That place with the ridiculously nice patrons that used to coddle him as a child and his wonderful aunt that had taken him in when no one else wanted him. That place that radiated warmth and touch and—

He was just so tired of doing this. He _couldn't _do this anymore. And he had tried. Hiro had tried so hard to get away. He had built contraptions when the tools were available. He had tried running, fighting— anything and _everything_. But they always caught him. They always brought him right back here, to his little room. To the cameras on the walls and the promise of more hurt tomorrow. No amount of trying on his part seemed to get him anywhere. It was always the same.

Sometimes, they would just have him work, building things in the makeshift room downstairs. They would bring him spare parts when he asked; let him work in peace. Other times, when whatever he had built for them before was in working order and they didn't need him for that anymore, they would take him upstairs, where someone was always waiting. And that someone would touch him in ways he didn't want them to and then— then Yama would get paid and—

He just couldn't do this anymore.

This was his only way out.

Hiro smiled at the thought, the same crooked smile that used to make his aunt pinch his cheeks and cuddle him close. Except, his eyes were sad. He really didn't want to die. He just didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to be _used _anymore.

With shaking fingers, he brought his hand up to the fragmented glass. He pressed his fingertip against a chunk of it, and slowly, ever so slowly, he shimmied it away from the rest of the mirror. He knew it would come loose fairly easily; he had knocked it out by accident weeks ago— _months ago?_— and it never went back in properly. Yet, somehow, he wasn't quite prepared for it when it fell against his palm, heavier than he thought it should be, the smooth glass a direct contrast to the jagged edges at its corners.

He clasped his hand around it, wincing a bit when he squeezed just a little too tightly. He hated pain. And blood made him woozy— and how was he ever going to do this?

Doe brown eyes glanced back at him from the mirror and he looked away, taking in the rumpling of the shower curtain and the plushness of the rug in front of the toilet. _I can do this_, he thought, repeating it to himself like a mantra as he eased himself to the ground, his wobbly legs straightening out in front of him as he leaned back against the wall. And somehow he had never noticed just how cold the tile was against his bare skin or how his toes instinctively curled inwards, his thin ankles grinding against the uneven grout.

Hiro glanced upwards at the camera on the wall. Someone was probably watching him right now, so he would have to be quick once he started. He would have to dig it in as deeply as he could and pull through as much of the artery as possible before anyone noticed what was happening. He needed to do this right. He needed to make sure he died quickly.

He whimpered a bit at the thought, a shiver running down his spine. He really didn't want to die. But he had to. He really had to. There was no other way for him to leave, for him to get out and get away.

So, he did what he needed to. He brought the jagged edge of the mirror to his inner arm, right at the crook of his elbow— and he pushed it into his skin as hard as he could, whimpering and writhing with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Blood began to pool at his arm, little rivers running off of his fingers where the other edges were cutting into his hand. And he was really doing this.

He was really going to get out.

He began to pull the mirror shard upwards toward his wrist, slowly and carefully— _it hurts, it hurts, it hurts!— _but he dropped the shard between his slippery fingers before he could make it all the way to his wrist. But, it was okay. There was so much blood running from his arm, staining the floor, cascading onto his lap.

And he laughed as he looked down at his bare legs, snorting through his buttoned nose as the beginnings of hysteria bubbled in his chest, as his breathing began to come out in pants and panic started to settle into his gut. They were going to dump his body like this. They were going to dump him just like this in the back of some alley and his aunt would be called to the station and he was going to be almost completely _naked _and _oh god oh god oh god_.

Maybe he should have taken a bath first.

He rolled to the side as the bathroom door began to open, still laughing, shielding his arm from the grabbing hands, kicking at whatever he could reach.

He was so tired.

"What the hell do you think you're doing," someone screamed, grabbing his shoulders and putting him upright. And then there were hands trying to stop the bleeding and— _get away, get away, get away_. "You _belong_ to me. You can't leave," that someone hissed in his ear.

He opened the eyes he didn't know he had closed, stopping his laughter to take in the multitude of chins and the beady black eyes of the man in front of him. Hiro smirked, his lips crooked with his gapped tooth grin. "Fuck you."

And he promptly fell asleep.

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day 1**_

* * *

Tadashi groaned to himself, his dark brown eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering as the first bits of wakefulness touched his consciousness. He twisted his neck this way and that, an odd sort of stiffness to his shoulders, a strange hardness at his back. He grunted, realizing that he had fallen asleep sitting up again. And wasn't that a pain. He was going to have a crick in his shoulders for the rest of the day now and Honey was going to coddle him and Baymax was going to smother him with health information when he was activated and—

He stopped himself, eyebrows knitting as he tried to bring his hand up to rub at his shoulders only to find that it wouldn't move. Tadashi tugged at the other one with the same result.

He wasn't moving.

Tadashi took a deep breath, panic bubbling in his gut, running up his throat as he opened his eyes. For a moment— a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the bright lights of the lab above him. The window in front of his desk that overlooked the campus. The dark sky looming over the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology telling him that it was well past time to go home for the night, to pack it up and try again tomorrow.

He didn't.

Instead, russet brown eyes went wide at the sight in front of him, the panic in his chest catching in his throat as he tried to breathe in and out. In and out. _Deep breaths_, he told himself. _Deep breaths_.

He was in a room. Or possibly a closet, each of the walls stripped to the drywall, bits and pieces of 90s wallpaper hanging off at the corners like an afterthought, bare nails studded here and there. There was a single light hanging above his head, the bare bulb undressed and dangling precariously from a single wire that looked to be barely strapped into the ceiling. In front of him sat an unoccupied chair with notches in the legs— _Perfect for tying someone in by their ankles and isn't that just horrifying_— and a bit too much wear on its finish. There was a door directly behind the chair. It didn't have a knob.

He gulped, blinking, concentrating on breathing, before looking down at himself. He was sitting in a chair similar to the one across from him, his ankles held tightly against the chair's legs. Tadashi tried to wiggle them, pulling them away from the chair experimentally until the bonds around his ankles pulled a little too hard and he just let them rest, a tingling sensation gripping at his toes. His hands were in no better shape, tied down at his wrists. Even his waist was strapped to the back of the chair by a large cord.

_And isn't this just like some spy movie_, he thought, scoffing a bit to himself. Shaking his head and smiling a little crazily. This was probably just some joke. Maybe Fred had been watching too many movies again and got everyone in on playing a trick on him. Any moment now everyone would be running through that door. _Surprise_, they would scream. He just forgot his birthday again. Really, that was all it was.

Except it wasn't and there was blood on his jeans, a little rip in the fabric at his knees— _and this __**cannot**__ really be happening right now. _

Tadashi tensed, breath coming in uneven pants now, panic barely pushed back. He bit his lip, pulling at the bonds on his wrists. If he could just get through one of them, he could get the rest of them off. And then, and then— and then _nothing. _There wasn't a knob on that door. He wasn't going anywhere, even if he did get away from the chair. What was he going to do, hole up in the corner? Fight his way out? From who? From _what_? He was a robotics student, not a _ninja_.

So, he calmed himself down.

He clenched and unclenched his hands, listening for the comforting sound of his knuckles popping. He filled his lungs with air, and he let the air out, slowly, purposefully. There was no need to panic. He would be fine. He didn't even know why he was here. Maybe whoever had brought him here just wanted to talk. Maybe they needed help. Maybe— maybe he was an idiot that was going to die in this closet.

He sighed at himself, tightening his jaw and shaking his head. Thinking that way wouldn't help him. It was probably correct— _no, no, no_— but he wasn't going to think about it. Instead, he settled himself in the chair, twisting until he was as comfortable as he was going to be, and waited.

He must have nodded off at some point, because the next thing he knew he was jolting awake to the sound of a door creaking open, the bottom of it scratching against the floor. He gulped as his eyes landed on the man who walked in, his bulking frame barely making it through the door. The man smiled crookedly at him.

And it didn't look nice.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," the man coughed around the cigar in his mouth, his hulking figure taking the seat across from him, the chair straining against his weight. _The notches in those legs aren't going to hold it up, _Tadashi thought incredulously.

The man leaned back in the chair when Tadashi didn't respond to him. And upon further inspection, he didn't look _so _bad. The man wore a pinstriped suit that opened to reveal a koi fish coated button-down pulling against his bulky belly. His feet were strapped into a pair of open-toed sandals and his hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the base of his neck. He looked professional enough— maybe even nice enough. But, there was something about his face that was off. Maybe it was the multitude of chins hanging off his neck or the way his nose scrunched against his scowling lips; most likely, it was the way his beady black eyes looked at him like he was something akin to a bug. The particularly big kind that needed to be exterminated.

The man puffed his cigar, leaning forward as he pulled it away from his mouth and exhaled the sickly smelling smoke into Tadashi's face. He coughed, and the man seemed pleased. "You are Tadashi Hamada. Correct?"

Tadashi blinked at him, russet eyes wide, lips thinning. How did he know his name? He was quite certain he had never met this man before. He was a college student. He was a _nerd_. He did not hang around the back alleys he was sure this man frequented. How could he have—

He jumped when the man clapped his hands together, leaning forward dangerously, his multitude of chins rumpling around his collar. "I asked you a question, boy. I expect it to be answered. Now."

Tadashi nodded frantically, his neck muscles pulling uncomfortably at his shoulders. "Yes. My name is Tadashi Hamada."

"I'm aware," the man purred, leaning back again, that cigar of his twirling between his fingers. "I'm told that you know quite a bit about medicine. Nursing and caring for injuries. That sort of thing."

Black brows furrowed. He knew about nursing and healthcare in general, but it wasn't like he was a doctor. He was into robotics. Healthcare wasn't even his field. "I know the basics," he acquiesced, biting at his lower lip.

The man frowned at him, one of his meaty legs coming up to push at the base of his chair, tilting him slightly to the side. "I didn't ask you a question, boy. Only speak when spoken to." The chair righted again, Tadashi jolting as he was jostled, the man's leg pulling away. "Now, I have a little problem that you're going to help me with, Mr. Tadashi Hamada," the man cooed. "Would you like to hear all about it?"

Tadashi nodded, a little unsure, slender fingers clenching and unclenching against the chair's arms.

Seeming quite pleased with his answer, the man stood, heaving himself up with a little sigh. "You see," he began, pacing around the closet of a room, "a certain possession of mine— a rather _important _possession of mine— has become a little bit of a handful lately. At first, it was just little things. Itsy bitsy little things. Being such a nice guy, I could overlook them. But," the man came to a stop behind him, his hulking body leaning over him, his stale breath brushing along his ear, "things change."

"_It _tried to leave," he stressed. "Die, rather. Escape attempts I can handle. Dying? Oh, no. It would cost far too much to replace at this point. And that, my dear Tadashi Hamada, is where you come in." Meaty hands rubbed at his shoulders. Fat knuckles brushed along his cheek. "Your job is to keep it _alive_. I'm sure you can handle that, Mr. Healthcare."

"And if I can't," Tadashi swallowed.

The man laughed— cackled— into his ear. "Let me put this into simple terms for you. If it dies, then you die." He felt something cold and metallic rest against his temple, a faint click ringing in his ears. And there was a gun by his head— _what am I supposed to do now? No one ever taught me how to deal with this?! _"Do you understand," the man asked, sickly sweet.

"I understand," he mumbled, dark brown eyes wide, chest heaving. He could do this. He could do this.

There was _no way _he could do this.

The man pulled the gun off of his temple, the rustling of fabric signaling that he had put it away. And suddenly, the cord around his waist went slack as the man began to untie him, whistling to himself. Tadashi stayed as still as he could as the man untied his ankles, followed by his wrists. And maybe he could get away now. The door was open and he was free and—

The gun was back, pointed precariously at his chest. "Up, boy," the man growled, motioning for him to stand. He did what he was told, his legs wobbling dangerously as the circulation began to flow freely to his feet, pins and needles running along his toes. The man grabbed his wrist— _and that feels so disgusting; please don't touch me_— and pushed him in front of him, the gun digging painfully into his back. "Now, walk. Try anything funny, and that little deal of ours is off. You'll die right here, understand?"

Tadashi nodded and let himself be led, the man's meaty hands jostling him through the door and down blank hallways. There weren't any windows, but wherever they were, there were multiple floors, as the man pushed him down a set of stairs and then another. He tried to take in as much of it as he could, but he couldn't remember half of the steps they had taken by the time they arrived at a door at the end of another bland hall. The door had a special security lock placed by its frame. The man covered Tadashi's eyes with his meaty hands as he pushed in the numbers.

And then the door opened and the man pushed him inside, the gun still pointed at his back as he stumbled and fell to his knees.

Russet eyes blinked at the pale blue carpet between his fingers. Cautiously, he lifted his head, furrowing his brows at what seemed to be the only somewhat decorated room in the entire… _wherever _he was. The walls were off-white and bare, but they were painted, unlike the plain drywall walls he had grown used to seeing. And there was a bed pushed in the corner, dressed and made with a striped blue comforter and baby blue coated pillows. There was even an open door on the side of the room that looked like it led to a bathroom area, equally shaded in blue— and why were some of the tiles stained red_?_ Directly across from it, sat a little couch that looked to be housing a mound of blankets.

Tadashi jolted when the mound moved. He blinked when it groaned.

The man behind him chuckled a bit, seemingly to himself. And Tadashi watched in horror as he strode forward, reaching his meaty hands into the blanket mound and roughly tugging out a—

Boy.

It was a boy who was hissing and tripping over blankets as the man pulled at him, standing him up straight and putting his bulky hands around the boy's thin waist. The man pressed the boy against himself, grabbing at his chin. "This is your charge. Keep him alive and I let you live."

He pushed the boy into him.

And Tadashi was met with the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen.

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day Unknown**_

* * *

"_For ten years, I've done the best I could to raise you. Have I been prefect? No! Do I know anything about children? No! Should I have picked up a book on parenting? Probably!* Gaah," his aunt threw her hands in the air in frustration, turning her back to him, her dainty fingers coming up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. "Where was I going? I had a point when I started."* _

_Hiro pulled his bottom lip between his gapped teeth, twisting his toes inside his trainers. He was just trying to pick up some extra money. It wasn't his fault that fourteen year olds couldn't get legitimate part-time work; he couldn't always rely on his aunt for absolutely everything._

_She twirled back around to him, all big green eyes and frizzy brown hair. "What were you even doing out there," she huffed. "Why bot fighting? Why something so stupidly dangerous and— and stupid," she finished lamely, voice dying out at the end. _

"_It's not stupid or dangerous," he shot back. If he was older or maybe a little more mature, he might have noticed the concern in her voice or the way her shoulders heaved and her eyes lit up with concern. But he wasn't quite an adult and he wasn't quite mature. He was just a kid. And he __**loved**__ bot fighting. "I'm always safe about it! I have my phone set to dial 911 immediately and everything!" _

"_That is not the point!" Aunt Cass made a frustrated noise, swiping a doughnut off a nearby plate and shoving half of it into her mouth. Hiro blanched, shocked as he watched her chew. Eventually, she finished. Sighing, she sunk into the chair across from his own. She looked deflated. "You see what you do to me," she stated a little regretfully as she shoveled down what was left of the doughnut. _

_And if he was someone else, someone a little more considerate, he might have felt bad. But he was himself— and he barely felt the pang of guilt gnawing at his chest. "It's not __**my**__ fault if you eat all the doughnuts in the café," he mumbled, scrunching up his nose at her. _

_She snorted, running her hand through her hair. "I'm stress eating. Because of you.*" She grabbed another one, taking a bite out of the side before pulling it away from her face to stare at it. "What am I going to do with you? Have you even __**seen **__my thighs lately?" _

"_Umm… no. That's gross," he tried, scrunching his eyebrows. She flicked the rest of the doughnut at him, frowning as he dodged the pastry and the cat began to toddle after it on the floor. _

_And sometimes, Hiro really didn't think she was cut out for this whole parenting business. _

_Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of watching her motionlessly frown at the cat, his Aunt Cass sighed, standing up, the plate of doughnuts held in her hands. "It's nearly morning already," she mumbled, twisting her mouth to the side as she sucked at the sugar stuck between her teeth. "Up for a movie?" _

_Hiro perked up a bit at that, kicking his legs back and forth beneath his chair. He wasn't __**that **__tired. "Please." _

_She smiled, turning her back to him as she made her way toward the living room. "Well, come on." _

_He stood, but there was a noise outside, faint and lilting, like the whirling of a lock. He turned his head this way and that, but his Aunt Cass was still walking away— and what was that sound? He knew he'd heard it before. It was quick and familiar, but he couldn't place it. He couldn't understand why it made fear pool in his gut or why he felt like he couldn't move. _

_He felt a hand grab his arm, but that wasn't right at all. His aunt was still walking away and it was just the two of them. They were the only ones home. She was the only one that could be touching him— but she wasn't. She was nowhere __**near **__him. He didn't understand. He didn't understand. He didn't __**understand**__!_

And then there was tugging and he was hissing at the tight grip on his arm as he was pulled away from his safe little dream world and his messy cocoon of blankets. He felt himself trip as he was taken away from the couch, his knee hitting the ground painfully before he was lifted up and pulled against a protruding stomach. He swallowed back the bile as a meaty hand grabbed at his waist. He didn't need to open his eyes to see who was behind him, _touching _him.

Yama grabbed his chin between his grubby fingers, that stale breath of his ghosting over his ear as he leaned against his thin frame. Hiro clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. "This is your charge." _And who is he talking to? _"Keep him alive and I let you live."

He opened his eyes when he began to feel himself fall. His knees hit the carpet, but when he put his arms out to catch himself, something else caught him instead. Warm hands grabbed his waist instinctively; panting breaths puffed against his cheeks.

And doe brown met a deep russet.

Hiro gasped, kicking his way out of the man's loose grip on his waist and planting himself on the floor a few feet away, his chest heaving up and down as his eyes went wide. The man— boy— _whoever _he'd landed oncoughed, rubbing at his chest like he'd kicked him. And he'd thought he'd felt something against his foot and— _oh man, oh man, oh man_— what was going on?

Yama laughed, reaching down to grab him by his hair and haul him up to his feet. Hiro hissed, his fingers wrapping around the meaty digits that knotted in his hair. The man just shook him a bit, cackling when his hands left his hair and clamped over his mouth. His stomach churned violently, but Yama eventually stopped, pulling his own hands away from his head and letting him stand on his own, wobbly and a little unsure. He glanced back and forth between the man on the floor— _god, he looks like he is going to be sick_— and Yama's hulking frame behind him, a sneer resting on his lips.

"Now, now, now, Hiro," Yama tutted, "that's no way to greet your new roommate." Hiro shuttered as those meaty hands rested on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles against his back. "This is Tadashi," he introduced. The man on the floor seemed to startle when his name was called, his russet eyes wide, his lips set in a thin line. "He's here to help you."

Hiro gulped at Yama's coddling tone, tensing as one of Yama's hands slid down his arm— straightening it— and rested against the stark white bandage against his elbow. He fingered it, tapping this way and that as he followed it all the way up to his wrist. Suddenly, Yama's fingers wrapped around his arm and squeezed.

He gasped, knees going weak as he fell to the floor, the hand still at his mouth pressing back against his jaw. That hurt. That hurt. _That hurt! _

Yama just patted his head, the grip on his arm loosening a bit. "This," he accentuated with another squeeze, "isn't allowed to happen again, is it, Hiro?"

"No," Hiro shook his head miserably, gritting his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man on the floor grow pale, his skin tone blending seamlessly with his white shirt.

"That's right," Yama cooed, tugging him back to his feet by his arm. "But, I don't trust you so much anymore. For all I know, you're a little liar." Hiro clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. "So, to prevent anymore little _mishaps_, Tadashi here is going to be watching over you." Meaty hands grabbed at his jaw again, making him look directly at the boy on the floor, with his rumpled clothes and his big, wide eyes. "Your life doesn't belong to you anymore— and neither does his," Yama pushed him forward, snorting as he stumbled.

"His life is directly tied to yours now. If you die," he continued, pulling the gun from the inner folds of his suit jacket, "so does he." Yama held the gun up, lining it up with the man— _Tadashi_— on the floor. "If you try to escape again, you won't be getting off with a few bruises. I'll bring you back here— and I'll make you watch me kill him, cutting him into itsy bitsy little pieces. Do you understand?"

Doe brown eyes widened as he gulped, nodding his head senselessly. "I understand," he mumbled, knowing the man expected an answer, wringing his hands in the fabric of his shirt, the red cloth catching on his uneven nails. He felt his chest constrict, anxiety lining his throat. Yama wasn't kidding; he never joked. And he was mad. He was just now realizing how mad he had made the man with his little suicide attempt. Before, when he tried to escape, the older man would rough him up a bit— maybe turn off the water or refuse to feed him— but he always forgot all about it eventually. There was never anything like this— there was never anyone else involved.

And what was he supposed to do now?

"Good boy," Yama cackled, patting his shoulder as he walked by. Hiro tensed, but didn't move as the man shuffled out the door, the automatic lock clicking into place as the door slammed shut behind him. Leaving him alone with this person. _Oh god, oh god, oh god—_ what was he supposed to do?

He blinked and Tadashi blinked back, seemingly in response, his skin still pale. And he looked like he was probably a few years older than he was, with nice broad shoulders and neat black hair. His lips were thin and maybe a little cracked, but he looked okay. Nice enough; clean enough. _Normal _enough. He felt his breath quicken at the thought.

Normal. He didn't know how to deal with normal anymore.

Tadashi shuffled forward, as if to put his feet underneath himself so he could stand, and Hiro took a wide step back reflexively. Russet brown eyes blinked and then narrowed a bit, concerned instead of angry. Thin lips smiled at him a little wearily; he coughed, one hand coming up to cover his mouth, red lines standing out against his skin— _probably from being tied up and who knows what else_— even as he regained a bit of his tannish color. "You're bleeding," he tried.

Hiro furrowed his brow, blinking again before taking a look at his arm where red was seeping through his bandage and dribbling down toward his fingers. And how hadn't he noticed that before?

"You're bleeding," Tadashi repeated, trying again, leaning forward as he stood.

"Happens," Hiro breathed, suddenly suffocating with his hands wringing in his shirt, his toes curling inward underneath him. He took another step back, sinking onto the couch when the back of his knees knocked against it.

Tadashi took a step forward, hands out like he was some type of wounded animal that was going to bolt as soon as he got too close— _and isn't that just accurate?_ "I can fix that," he muttered, all wide russet eyes and broad chin.

Hiro tilted his head, bringing his knees to his chest. "Is it broken?" He groaned as soon as the words left his mouth— wasn't that such a stupid thing for him to say?

"Wha…," Tadashi trailed, stopping a mere foot away, running his hand through his hair. And god, that reminded him so much of his aunt. "I don't understand."

"You only fix things that are broken. If it's not broken, it can't be fixed," he breathed in an attempt to explain himself, panic ebbing away a bit at the thought of his aunt, at the way Tadashi just blinked at him, as if mulling over his words.

"Okay. It's not broken," Tadashi reasoned, smiling as he bent down into a squat, eyes looking straight at him, "it's just a little damaged. And we really can't let it keep bleeding like that."

"_**If you die, so does he." **_

"There are bandages," he cried, startled at himself, at the way his voice sounded. He brought his hands to his mouth, breathing in and out through his fingers. _Don't panic, don't panic, __**please**__ don't panic. _"There are bandages," he tried again, a little slower, a little quieter. "They're in the bathroom on— on the shelf."

Tadashi smiled at him, all straight teeth and thin lips. "Okay. I'll go get those."

Hiro flinched a bit as Tadashi patted his knee before standing, wandering into the bathroom at the corner of the room. Hiro set his feet back down on the carpet, curling them against the fabric. He could feel the blood beginning to dry around his fingers. Only a little bit had soaked through, but who knew how bad the damage actually was— and what was he supposed to do if it got infected? What if it just kept bleeding and bleeding and never closed up? His life didn't belong to just him anymore. He could— he could get this guy killed too; Yama didn't make empty threats. And his aunt would never forgive him for something like that.

_He _would never forgive _himself _for something like that.

"Hey." Hiro jumped, tensing as warm fingers grabbed his arm, brown eyes watching intently as Tadashi bent down beside him again and began to unwrap the bandage. The white cloth peeled away easily, twirling around and around his arm, opening to reveal the long, jagged line reaching from his inner elbow to just below his wrist. The other boy stopped for a moment, just looking at it— _of course he thinks it's gross_— but didn't say anything. Instead, he pressed a wet washcloth against his arm. Hiro hissed, tugging his arm to his chest. Tadashi let him go easily. "Sorry. Did that hurt," he asked.

And he sounded so sincere. Not dangerous at all.

"Cold," he mumbled, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Oh. I— I should have waited for the water to warm up."

Hiro shook his head, holding his arm out. He watched as Tadashi slowly brought the cloth back to his skin and began wiping at the blood. There wasn't as much as he'd expected; he'd just been overreacting. But, Tadashi didn't seem to care. He just washed it all away, pressing firmly —gently— against the dried bits. Hiro flinched when he brought the cloth to his hand and began wiping away the little red streams that had dried along his fingers. And he sighed when the bandage went back on, twisting around his arm with a tug here and another there.

Tadashi was good at this.

"So, you're Hiro," Tadashi asked when he finished, sitting back against the carpet and looking up at him. There was blood on his fingers now; Hiro wondered if he noticed.

"I am," he answered.

And then Tadashi did the strangest thing. He held his hand out, fingers outstretched as if expecting Hiro to shake it. "I'm Tadashi Hamada. College student." Hiro just blinked at him, cradling his arm to his chest. "Umm… this is the part where you say your name," he tried, smiling, whispering conspiratorially like he was some sort of child that needed to be coddled.

Hiro resented that a bit, but held out his hand nonetheless— the good one. "Hiro Takachiho. Captive by day; captive by night," he deadpanned before he could stop himself. Tadashi seemed a little upset at that, his face falling. And it was coming anyway; that smile was barely held there to being with.

"How long have you been here," he murmured after some time had passed, the air between them stiff and dry.

He blinked at the question, leaning back on the couch and pulling his knees to his chest. He really didn't know the answer to that. It felt like _forever_, but it could have just been a few months. But he had gotten taller and his shoulders had begun to broaden— and it felt like he hadn't been outside in such a long time.

And maybe this was his chance to find out. Tadashi was obviously new to all of this. He probably knew what day it was, at the very least. Maybe even if they were still in San Fransokyo. Maybe he could remember where they were or— or tell him what the weather was like outside. Right now. If it was raining or snowing or if that nasty thick fog from the bay had settled over the buildings again.

He'd never wanted to go outside so much in his life.

Realizing that Tadashi was looking at him expectantly— and how did he even remember what that looked like?— he shrugged, leaning forward just a bit at his hips. "Depends."

"Depends," Tadashi repeated, confused. But he seemed relaxed. And it had been so long since he had talked with anyone close to his own age; what was he supposed to say? "On?"

"The day," he replied a little breathlessly. The other boy just looked at him, all quirked eyebrows until understanding started to darken his features. And now he was scowling and Hiro hadn't meant to make him _mad_. "I just— I'm not really sure how long I've been— they don't… let me out very much," he finished lamely, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Which must have been the right thing to do, because Tadashi smiled again, eyes a little less happy than they once were, but _okay_ and— he really had no idea what he was doing.

"It's— well, it _was_ the 15th. January 15th," the older boy tried. There was a pregnant pause between them— and then Tadashi swallowed heavily. "It's 2023."

Hiro twisted his hands in his shirt, wincing at how sore his arm was, at how his fingers didn't want to work quite right. "Seven hundred and sixty-three days," he whispered, swallowing, his heart sinking down into his gut. "Over two years."

Was Aunt Cass even still _looking_ for him?

"Oh, god," Tadashi breathed, leaning forward to rest his head against his knee. Hiro jerked, but Tadashi didn't move away; he just shook his head from side to side. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay," he breathed against his shorts, mumbling to himself. And maybe Tadashi was just like he used to be— all scared and lonely— with no idea of what was happening or how to deal with it, panic tugging at his chest. Hiro held up his hand, as if to ruffle his hair or just let him know he wasn't alone, but he hesitated, letting the appendage fall back into his lap.

What was he supposed to say?

Tadashi pulled away, running his hand through his hair, russet eyes looking at him with conviction. "Everything's going to be just fine," he said. "People are going to notice I'm missing. They'll come get us. We'll get out of here."

Hiro didn't have the heart to tell him that no one was coming.

That no one would _ever _be coming.

* * *

**Waiting: **_**Day 778**_

* * *

"Umm, Ms. Cass..." She swiveled in her chair at the voice, smiling reassuringly at her employee— a small, mousey sort of girl that had only been with her for a few weeks. The girl looked at her a little apprehensively as she tiptoed up the last couple of stairs.

Cassandra wanted to laugh at the nervous way she eyed the room, but she knew she shouldn't. All of her employees seemed a little afraid to cross over from the café into her home upstairs. She didn't quite understand why; it was all the same to her. "I don't bite. You're welcome to come in."

The girl shook her head, "There are some kids downstairs that want to use the display board. I thought they should talk to you."

She quirked her lips to the side at that, "Tell them I'll be down in just a minute."

She sighed as the girl left to return to the café, running her hand through her frizzy hair in an attempt to smooth it before standing to follow her, her knees popping a bit with the extra weight at her knees. Looking down at herself, she frowned, eyeing the way her apron bunched at her waist, the way her pants stretched a bit across her thighs. She needed to get out more, like she used to before…

Cassandra shook her head, huffing. She didn't want to think about that right now; she did enough of that once the café closed down for the night and it was just her and the cat, curled up on the couch with a movie that he used to love. She couldn't break down and cry right now. She had a business to run. Today and tomorrow and the day after that.

With that in mind, she made her way down the stairs, smoothing her hair again as she turned the corner, the smell of coffee and fresh pastries tickling her nose. She smiled at the way her customers crowded the tables, the way her baristas dawdled her and there. They seemed happy— and she couldn't really ask for anything more than that, except...

She blinked at the couple standing by the counter, a tall, dark skinned young man and a wispy thin blonde girl with wide-rimmed glasses. They were smiling, chatting amongst themselves, but they seemed preoccupied.

"Those are the kids."

Cassandra jumped a bit, nodding as her little barista went back to work. Carefully, she made her way over to them, smiling at a few of her regulars as she passed. When she slid behind the counter, the couple stopped talking, staring at her with wide eyes. She grinned. They looked like they were only a couple of years older than he would be. "Hi. They tell me you want to use the display board," she asked, with an upward lilt.

The girl nodded, looking at her friend before rummaging through her purse. She pulled a stack of papers out of the bag— and it looked like she wanted to cry. "Since your café is so popular, we thought— we thought…," she looked to her friend for help.

He swallowed. "A friend of ours went missing a couple of weeks ago," he stated, grabbing the papers out of the girl's hands and holding them out to her. Cassandra took them, her hands shaking, her green eyes blinking rapidly to keep herself from crying.

_Missing_, the paper said in big block letters, _Tadashi Hamada. _And he looked like such a sweet boy.

"We talked with the police, but they didn't find anything," the boy stated, his fingers just barely brushing the counter. "They… They thought it would be a good idea for us to post his picture in places where a lot of people gather. In case someone has seen him."

Cassandra nodded in understanding. That's what they'd told her to do too, after so much time had gone by that they couldn't devote as many resources to finding him anymore. "Okay," was all she said.

The girl adjusted her glasses, tucking her long blonde hair behind one of her ears. "Our friend, Freddie, remembered seeing another one of these signs here before, so he thought you'd be willing to put it up for us."

She bit her lip, nodding as she turned to the one picture she always tried to avoid— _Missing_, it said, _Hiro Takachiho_. And there was that ridiculous grin and those big, almond eyes centered on her display board. She'd taken that picture a little over a month before he'd gone missing— for his birthday. He was wearing the blue jacket she'd gotten him.

She felt the tear slide down her cheek before she realized she was crying.

"I'm so sorry," the girl cried in alarm, looking to her friend. And he looked just as concerned and confused, so small despite his hulking frame. "We didn't mean to upset you or—"

"It's fine," Cassandra cut her off, blinking to will away her tears. She forced a smile back onto her face, running her fingertips lovingly across the papers in her hands. "That's my nephew," she said by way of explanation. She shook her head at the girl's distressed look. "He's been gone for a long time now."

"I'm so— we're so sorry," the girl tried again, leaning a little closer to her friend. He seemed uncomfortable, looking back and forth between the picture of the boy in her hands and the missing little boy on the wall.

"I'll put this up for you. And," she choked a little, "if you have any extras, I can ask some of my regulars to post them where they work." They'd done it for her— her little Hiro was posted in buildings all around town.

"That would be great," the boy said, grabbing at the girl's arm reassuringly. "We really appreciate it."

Cassandra just shook her head, waving it off. So many people had done it for her. And it helped alleviate some of the pressure in her chest— for a while, at least. It didn't make it go away, but it— it made it better. And that was really all she could ask for.

She watched them leave a few moments later, a bag full of her best treats heading out the door with them; it was the very least she could do. She knew better than anyone what it felt like to have someone just disappear, not knowing if they were still alive or not. It hurt. And the hurt never went away. It just stayed there, burning in her chest and waiting to flare up again.

She looked at the papers she'd placed on the counter, grabbing one carefully before making her way over to the display board. She stopped in front of Hiro's image— _it feels like those pretty brown eyes are looking at me_— and set to work clearing out the space beside it. Cautiously, she placed the new picture beside his, tacking it up with unnecessary care. Cassandra took a step back once she was done.

_Missing, Missing_, the papers taunted.

Today was going to be a very long day.

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day 23**_

* * *

"I'm allergic to peanuts."

Tadashi blinked at him, holding the sandwich up with a squint. "But they bring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in for lunch every day." And they really did. Every day, just like clockwork, the door would open and someone— normally, a burly looking man— would drop a tray of sandwiches by the door, complete with an apple and a pack of fruit punch on the side. Tadashi wasn't really sure if it was actually for lunch though; he'd never realized just how much he'd relied on clocks until he didn't have one anymore. For all he knew, it was midnight on the outside.

Hiro shrugged his skinny shoulders from his spot on the couch, his bare feet running back and forth along the carpet. "I don't think they really care if I eat it or not," he said, those doe brown eyes of his looking away.

The older boy hummed, dropping Hiro's sandwich back onto the tray with a little sigh. He had wondered why Hiro would always leave most of his food uneaten; he had thought he might just be depressed, but he wasn't a doctor and he really didn't know. It was just that he didn't seem to eat very much— _his ribs are peeking through his shirt again_— and he spent most of his time sleeping on the couch, only moving about when absolutely necessary. And with that cut on his arm— almost a full blown scar now, he was a little worried about his mental health.

He seemed like a sweet kid.

But Tadashi just wasn't cut out for this. Bumps and bruises, he could handle. He could patch those up perfectly. Colds and fevers and flu symptoms? Easy. He was well prepared for that sort of thing. Suicide attempts? Clinical depression? He knew about them— _sure— _but had first aid training. Not _psychiatric_ training. He had only just begun programming the basics of mental health into Baymax, his robotic nurse project. He'd barely covered the symptoms at this point, let alone how to _treat_ them.

"Then have my apple," he tried, holding the object out to him. Hiro looked at it for a minute, before nervously taking it into his hand and taking a big bite out of the side. Tadashi smiled at the slight underbite and the gap in his teeth. He was willing to admit that it was kind of endearing. In fact, he found most things about him to be quite charming, from the way he would smile when he told him about his college or his life outside to the way he would timidly ask him questions about Baymax.

And those were always surprising. Hiro was a _lot_ smarter than he'd expected.

If they ever made it out of here— _they would, they would, they would; be optimistic_— then he was going to have to take him to his lab. He was pretty sure he would love it there, with the way his face lit up at the mention of robotics. He would probably gush over all of GoGo's bikes, the way Honey Lemon could make almost anything happen with her chemicals. He could even see Wasabi showing Hiro just what his lasers could do to that apple in his hands. And Fred would probably have him dying in laughter within minutes.

He snickered a bit at the image. Hiro blinked at him, but he just shook his head, leaning back against his palms and looking up at the boy from his spot on the floor. For a moment, they just stared at one another, but then Hiro took another bite of the apple and looked away again, wringing his free hand into his shirt uncomfortably.

It had been a little over three weeks, but Hiro still squirmed whenever he looked at him for too long. In a way, it was kind of fun to watch how he would turn his feet inwards, how a pale pink blush would slide up his neck and paint his ears bright red. In another, it was absolutely horrifying, because it was done subconsciously and anxiously, because it had been over two years and he just wasn't used to human contact. Because, as far as he knew, he was the only person Hiro really got to talk with— and he was probably messing things up horribly.

He really couldn't do this.

But he didn't have a choice.

Deciding to give the younger boy a little peace, Tadashi stretched out across the floor at the base of the couch, hands inching the mostly empty tray away to make room for his shoulders. There wasn't a lot of space between the couch, the bed, and the bathroom door, but he made do, letting one of his arms flop under the sofa. Hiro didn't seem to mind; he just brought his feet up onto the piece of furniture— and Tadashi could just barely see his thin little toes curling around the cushion's edge.

Watching them curl and uncurl, he let his mind wander. He recited math formulas in his head, checked and double checked his list of improvements for Baymax (he'd get to them eventually), and tried to remember what day it was on the outside, what he might be doing right now if his life had just continued along like normal. He turned his head to the side, russet eyes counting up the tally he had marked on the wall by the bed. It wasn't easy to keep it up, especially since there really weren't any sharp objects around for him to use to scrape the wall— for obvious reasons— but he managed. It had been twenty-three days. Twenty-three days and no one had burst through the door yet.

But he was still hoping. He hadn't given up on anyone finding them yet. He was sure it would just be a few more days and he would be going home. They'd _both _be going home.

He smiled at the thought, turning his head back toward the ceiling. Hiro had shifted a bit, with one of his feet coming back to the floor, his body scooted forward just slightly on the couch. He was really quite gangly, with his slightly too large feet and his slightly too thin legs.

_Puberty_, Tadashi thought, with a silent laugh. Carefully, he reached out his hand and ghosted his fingertips over Hiro's ankle. The boy flinched, but didn't move it away. He grinned at the way Hiro's foot twitched more and more the longer he touched it, like he was somehow caught between craving human touch and outright rejecting it. Touching was something Tadashi was working on with Hiro— and he'd made some tangible progress in the past three weeks. He thought so, anyway.

Tadashi moved his fingers up a little higher, brushing them along Hiro's calf, the edge of his shorts. Hiro flinched again, but laughed when he tucked them behind his knee, tickling him a bit. He ran his hand back and forth between the younger boy's ankle and knee. Hiro made breathless little noises, twitching here and there, but stayed in place. After a few minutes, Tadashi stopped, resting his hand on the edge of Hiro's shorts, rubbing circles against the bone protruding from his knee.

And then he let his hand flop back down to his side, his arm a little sore. He could hear Hiro swallow above him, could see his hands on the edge of the couch, twisting and wringing in the fabric, the apple core held between two of his fingers. His left hand didn't move quite as quickly as his right, and Tadashi vaguely realized that he'd probably damaged some of his tendons when he'd cut himself. Eventually, Hiro stood, tiptoeing around him to place the apple core on the tray.

As he watched him, his eyes widened and dread pooled deep within his gut.

Tadashi stopped him when he went to sit down again, one hand wrapping firmly around his ankle. Hiro squeaked, trying to turn and nearly tripping in the process. Tadashi wasn't sure he could handle this, but he couldn't just let it go either.

The older blinked, sitting up and grabbing at the other's shirt, lifting it only slightly. Hiro wrapped his hands in the fabric, pushing it down. "What are you doing," he asked. His breath was beginning to quicken now— _inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale— _and Tadashi was fairly certain he was beginning to scare him.

But he was pretty sure of what he'd seen when Hiro had turned around. And he was horrified by the idea.

He wasn't prepared for this.

Tadashi let go of Hiro's ankle, and the boy took a step back, pressing his body against the wall, big brown eyes wide. And this was almost like when they'd met, when Hiro had backed away from him like a frightened animal and he could only think of making the bleeding stop, making the pain go away. This time… he needed to know some things.

"Hiro," he asked slowly, putting his hands in his lap in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, "what happens to you when you leave the room?" And it wasn't like he'd never thought about it before. He'd even asked, but Hiro always seemed to evade his inquiries. The boy in question blinked, scrunching himself farther into the wall, like he was trying to make himself as small as physically possible. And he looked very uncomfortable now, with his fingers wrapped up in the hem of his shirt, his elbows tucked tightly into his ribcage. "Hiro," he tried again, a little more firmly this time.

Hiro flinched, sliding down the wall until he was all curled up on the floor, his knees tucked beneath his chin. "I just… I build things," he finally whispered, looking away, those big brown eyes of his facing the wall.

Tadashi shuffled a little closer, stopping about a foot away. He hunched his shoulders a bit. Now was not the time to seem threatening. _Please, please, __**please**_, he thought. _Let me be wrong_. "Is that all that happens?"

Hiro's lips trembled. "I just build things," he said again, a little more firmly. He nervously ran his hands through his hair. "For money. Sometimes— it's for bot fights. Most of them… I— I think."

Russet eyes softened at their edges, and Tadashi shuffled forward a little more, grabbing Hiro's chin and carefully turning the boy's head until he was looking at him again. Hiro didn't look happy about it, but he didn't pull away either; Tadashi took that as a good sign. "Hiro," he asked, "what happened when you went out this morning?"

He swallowed. Blinked. "Nothing," he breathed.

Tadashi sighed, bringing his hands up to rest on the other's knobby knees. "Then why is there blood on your pants?"

Hiro jerked, sitting up a little straighter. He was breathing impossibly fast now— _he's having a panic attack_. "I'm not— there's nothing— nothing happened," he wheezed.

"Hiro," he whispered, trying to get him to focus. And he was looking at anything and everything that wasn't Tadashi now. He'd read about this sort of thing before, when he'd been toying with the idea of adding abuse counseling into Baymax's database. But he couldn't remember the right thing to say— _oh man, I'm screwing this up; I'm not a doctor_— but he couldn't just let him deny the fact that it happened— _how many times_?— could he? That just couldn't be healthy and— he had to be supportive, right? "You can— you can tell me if they're touching you."

The boy in question looked straight at him then, eyes wide, all the blood draining away from his face. "They're not— why would you— I don't know what you think— Oh, god, nothing like that. I'm— I'm a _boy_," he finally exclaimed, like that made the entire reality of it impossible.

Tadashi blinked at him, taking in the way Hiro's chest heaved— _up and down, up and down_— and his fingers grasped at his knees like a lifeline, his knuckles white. It was obvious that he was lying; that he was just denying it. Because what else could have happened? Why else would he be so scared? And what was he supposed to say? "Hiro… You don't have to— to lie about it. I know it happened."

And that was definitely _not_ the right thing to say.

Hiro's chest shook, his face falling, like he'd finally realized that he wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this and Tadashi wasn't going to change the subject. Instead of opening up like Tadashi had hoped— because he didn't know what he was doing and this seemed like a good idea before but it really wasn't_ (why didn't I pay more attention to mental health?!)_— he covered his mouth with his hands almost forcefully, burying his face in his knees. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _I'm sorry_," he panted. And it was muffled, but it was heart-wrenching.

Tadashi pushed back his bangs, swallowing. And he could feel himself beginning to panic too, with the way his fingers trembled and his breath didn't quite fill his lungs. He hadn't expected that— and what the hell did he think he was going to accomplish by asking anyway?

He could do this. He could do this.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Hiro breathed into his knees.

_Oh,_ _god_— he really couldn't do this.

Carefully, he reached a hand out, grabbing the boy's shoulder, pulling himself up to lean in a little closer— and he was probably messing this up so much. "It's okay, it's okay," he soothed, cooing into Hiro's ear. His chest just shook and shook and shook, his face buried against his knees. Tadashi could feel the guilt swirling in his chest. _I caused this,_ he thought. _**I **__caused this._

Eventually, Hiro's breaths began to even out. Tadashi leaned away when he started to rock back and forth almost imperceptivity, one of his feet pushing him to and fro. The older boy swallowed thickly, grabbing his ankle to make him stop. Hiro looked at him. His face was red and his eyes were wet, but… he hadn't cried at all. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his lower lip trembling even as he brought it into his mouth and began to worry it between his teeth.

Tadashi tried to smile at him— but it must not have been very convincing because Hiro was looking away a second later, all big brown eyes and skinny shoulders. "It doesn't— it's not all the time," he said at length, like he was trying to reason it out in his head. "Just sometimes. I- I really do build bots. Really." He glanced back at him for just a split second before looking away again. "Sorry."

Tadashi shuffled forward and sat beside him on the wall. Hiro flinched, but didn't move away. Instead, he pulled his knees a little closer to his chest. _Deep breaths_, he told himself. _Deep breaths_. He didn't have the option of freaking out right now. "Why are you sorry," he asked once it became apparent that Hiro wasn't going to offer up anything more.

Big almond-shaped eyes looked at him, as if considering his question, but then he swallowed and stared at the wall.

Tadashi sighed, ghosting his fingertips through Hiro's kitten-soft black hair. The boy didn't move. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he tried, because the least he could do was try to ease some of the ache he'd caused. "It's not your fault."

Hiro's breath quickened a bit at that, and he shook Tadashi's fingers out of his hair, his own digits coming up to roughly pull at it. Tadashi quickly grabbed them, carefully placing them in the boy's lap.

Then, because he didn't know what to do or what to say, he pulled Hiro against his chest. His shoulders shook for a moment and his hands came up to separate them, but Tadashi held firm— and Hiro calmed down, burying his face against his chest. It could have been minutes or hours later when the sobbing started.

And he held him through it because there really wasn't much he could do, but he could do this.

He could do this.

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day 791**_

* * *

Hiro bit at his bottom lip, shuffling forward on the couch, blankets pooled around his hips. Carefully, he placed his feet on the floor, curling his toes to ward away the pins and needles running down his left leg. He froze when Tadashi let out something between a moan and a snore, his eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat. He glanced at the lump on the bed— Tadashi's stretched out form; it rolled over and he let out the breath he didn't remember himself holding.

It was okay. Tadashi was still asleep. He wasn't going to wake up. _Breathe, breathe, breathe_, he told himself.

Squaring his shoulders, he stood, cautiously untangling himself from his blankets and taking a step closer to the bed. The older boy didn't seem to notice, so he took another step, followed by another and another. And then he was standing at the side of the bed with his fingers knotting in the hem of his shirt, his weight anxiously shifting back and forth at his ankles. Swallowing, he leaned forward so that he was hovering just over Tadashi's sleeping form— and he watched him sleep.

The older boy didn't sleep nearly as often as he did. Or, rather, Hiro was hardly ever in the room when he went to sleep, so watching him in these rare moments had become a bit of a treat for him. Tadashi seemed to sleep without a care, all stretched out with his limbs going everywhere and his hair sticking up to show off his prominent ears. It was refreshing, and it always made him feel a little bit lighter, a little bit more normal. Like maybe they were friends and just having a sleepover or something.

Except friends didn't watch each other sleep. And god, he had turned into such a _freak_.

Hiro groaned, pulling at his hair, wincing at the uncomfortable tug at his left hand. He hadn't meant to start doing this. He hadn't meant for this to become a habit. At first, he'd just wanted to study the older boy. He hadn't seen anyone his own age in a long time— and it had seemed harmless enough, with him just standing above him and watching the way his chest rose and fell. But that was in the early days, when Tadashi had just gotten there and he was still trying to figure him out. Now, it was almost like an addiction.

He couldn't stop and he wasn't even sure he wantedto.

There was just something so calming about having someone else around— not being alone all the time. He'd grown used to it, but he'd never really realized how lonely he'd been. He'd become numb to the gaping hole in his chest, and having Tadashi in the room made his heart literally _ache_ for some sort of normal human contact. Conversation, touch, _anything_.

But he wasn't quite normal anymore and he didn't know how to go about fixing himself. He didn't remember how to initiate touches, how to start a conversation or even how to hold one once it started. Tadashi tried to talk to him and without even noticing he was doing it, Hiro always found himself closing up, shutting down before anything meaningful could be said. He'd never been very good with people, but now… it was like he couldn't remember anything about appropriate behavior. He didn't know what to say or how to say it. And he just didn't _react _quite like he should.

He shuddered, a chill running down his spine at the thought of the meltdown he had had a few days before— when Tadashi had found out about _that_. Hiro knew that he would figure it out eventually— _he isn't stupid_— and he'd been meaning to tell him. Really, he had; he just hadn't known how to bring it up. So, he'd been trying to hide it.

He would fix his hair on the walk back to the room. He would shower as soon as he got in. He took extra care to make sure his clothes looked normal, that there weren't any weird wrinkles or fluids and— how did he miss the bleeding? He had been so careful to make sure Tadashi didn't find out like that, but then he did and it couldn't have possibly gone any worse. He'd just lost it.

All he could think was _deny, deny, deny_— maybe it will all go away.

But it didn't and Tadashi just kept asking and then he'd _cried_ and—

Hiro made a frustrated noise, feeling his breath begin to quicken, his chest begin to quiver and shake. "No, no, no. Don't think about it,"he whispered to himself, rocking a bit on the balls of his feet, wrapping his arms around his middle. Just thinking about it made him want to curl into a ball and disappear. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if anyone else were to find out. If his _aunt_ found out. It would kill her to know what had happened to him; she would never look at him the same way again.

He scoffed at the thought, shaking his head. He was never going to see her again anyway. The most he could hope for was having his body returned once he died.

"Hey." Hiro jumped, letting out a startled sort of noise as he took a step away from the bed and bumped his shoulder against the wall, his breath catching in his throat. The older boy quirked an inky black eyebrow at him, leaning back on his elbows. He didn't notice him wake up. How long had Tadashi been watching him? _Oh man oh man oh man_— he didn't have an explanation for himself and Tadashi was probably going to be mad and— "You okay?"

His voice was full of concern.

Hiro felt himself begin to calm, his shoulders slumping. Tadashi never got mad. He knew that; he just had to keep telling himself that until he believed it. "I'm fine," he mumbled, tightening the grip his fingers had on his shirt, his hands still wrapped around his waist.

Tadashi blinked the sleep out of his eyes and yawned, sitting up with a little sigh. Russet brown orbs studied him and he made himself look away, doe brown eyes staring at the wall as guilt settled into his gut. He hadn't meant to wake him up; he'd just wanted to watch him for a while.

"Did you have a bad dream," Tadashi asked at length. And his voice didn't sound accusatory at all, but Hiro could feel his cheeks burn as he shook his head, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Tadashi hummed, "Do you want to sleep with me?"

Hiro swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the wall. Tadashi was already scooting over on the bed, making room for him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hiro glanced at the couch where all of his blankets lay, strewn this way and that. He never slept on the bed and it really wasn't big enough for two people, but… "Okay."

And when Tadashi curled around him in an effort to conserve space, he felt some of the ache in his chest begin to diminish.

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day 32**_

* * *

"Rise and shine, Mr. Healthcare."

Tadashi awoke to the sound of clapping above him, his body shooting upright, black spots dancing behind his eyes because of the sudden change. Yama— _Hiro called him that_— laughed. "Did you have a nice nap," he asked, leaning over him with his multitude of chins and that ever present cigar twirling between his fingers.

Tadashi just blinked at him, chocolate eyes wearily taking in the way his nose curled, his lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. And then he noticed that the lights were on, illuminating the room and reflecting off the walls. They'd been off when he'd gone to sleep— and he knew he hadn't been sleeping for very long. He couldn't have been; his limbs still felt heavy and a thick fog was whirling around in his subconscious.

He was so tired.

Yama cleared his throat above him, grabbing his upper arm and hauling him out of bed. He could have struggled, but from the way the man always threw Hiro around like a ragdoll, he thought that it was best not to, letting his feet touch the floor and following his bulky movements without question. Yama patted his shoulder when they stopped only a few feet away, releasing his grip on his arm and leaning in to breathe against his ear. "They may have given him a little too much," he sneered, "but this is your job, isn't it, Mr. Healthcare?"

Tadashi shuddered, a long shiver running down his spine at the sight before him. Hiro was sitting on the floor, his legs spread out in front of him at odd angles, like they were broken, his upper body leaning heavily against the wall. His hair was everywhere, sticking up this way and that, matted against his forehead. His big almond-shaped eyes were wide, but his pupils were dilated to the point that they were black with just the barest hint of brown around their rims.

And he was _naked_.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. _He couldn't do this. _

Tadashi's breath quickened in his throat, his heart sinking into his chest. What had they _done_ to him? There were scratches running down his thighs, hand-shaped bruises at his hips. His wrists and ankles were red, like he'd been tied up and— _oh god_, _what am I supposed to do?_

Yama laughed beside him, rubbing his shoulder, patting the side of his face with his meaty hand. "It looks like they played a little rough with him, don't you think? If only he was better at doing what he was told," he said a little wistfully, "then these sorts of things just wouldn't have to happen."

Tadashi swallowed down the bile pooling at his throat, clenching his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms. He made it sound like it was Hiro's fault that this had happened to him. And it wasn't. It wasn't his fault. It couldn't have been.

"But, that's quite alright. You're going to clean him up, aren't you?" Tadashi nodded his head dumbly; Hiro blinked up at him. "I can't hear the rocks rattling in your head," Yama hummed.

Tadashi gritted his teeth, squaring his shoulders as he looked away from Hiro. Russet eyes stared into beady black orbs, narrowed and angry. Yama raised one of his bushy eyebrows at him, face contorted into a full-blown smirk. "Yes," he answered with conviction, "I am."

He could do this. Probably.

Yama snickered, turning back toward the door. "Have fun," he chortled.

The door slammed closed. And it was just the two of them again.

Tadashi let out a shaky breath, dropping his shoulders as he bent down, his anger dissipating. Hiro tilted his head to the side, blinking as he came to a stop near his ankles. And he looked confused, with his knitted brows and unfocused eyes. "Hey," he whispered, "can you talk to me?"

Hiro let out a garbled sort of noise, opening his mouth only to have it close again. Tadashi vaguely realized that his lips were a little swollen and his buttoned nose was red, like he was cold. Carefully, he slid forward, his fingers jittery, wondering where to start. Hiro looked like he was out of it— _definitely drugged_— but otherwise intact. Just a few bruises here and there— _are those bite marks?_— but nothing serious. Nothing life threatening.

He swallowed, his fingers gently wrapping around Hiro's ankle. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He'd only just come to terms with the fact that this sort of thing was actually happening to the other boy; he hadn't thought of a way to really _deal_ with it yet. He shook his head at the thought. That was being selfish; this wasn't about him or what made him comfortable. It wasn't like Hiro meant for this to happen— or that it was even his fault. He probably wanted this even less than Tadashi did.

Hiro let out another little noise, his ankle twisting just slightly beneath his hand. It wasn't particularly audible, but it sounded an awful lot like an apology.

And that really wasn't okay.

Tadashi shook his head again, leaning forward on his knees, trying to force a smile on his face. "We're going to get you cleaned up," he pressed his palm against the younger boy's forehead; he was burning up. "Does a shower sound okay," he asked, because he just had to do something about the sticky fluids caked around his thighs.

Doe brown eyes blinked and Hiro shuffled a bit, like he was trying to pull his knees up to cover himself. He groaned and his brows knitted, frustrated.

Tadashi just smiled at him, cooing under his breath as he ran his hand over his knee soothingly. He probably couldn't really move. And, according to the lectures Tadashi received in high school about being careful with his drinks when he went out by himself, a lot of drugs did that. They made it so that your muscles relaxed to the point that you couldn't control them even if you wanted to. Those drugs also had a tendency to cause memory loss.

He sincerely hoped that bit of information was true in this case.

Carefully, he shuffled forward, lifting Hiro's arms and putting them around his neck. They were heavy against his back— dead weight— but he could just barely feel fingers trying to tug at the fabric of his shirt. And that was a good sign; it meant he had some control at least. "Okay. I'm going to grab your hips now and stand up. Is that okay?"

Hiro mumbled something against his neck, swollen lips sloppily brushing against his pulse point, and Tadashi took that as an okay, arms wrapping around Hiro's lower back as he lifted. They made it about halfway before they were falling back against the wall. And Hiro wasn't particularly heavy, but he couldn't really help and Tadashi just barely managed to catch them when Hiro lost his grip on his shirt and began tumbling back toward the carpet.

They ended up pressed against the wall, with his hands cradling Hiro's lower back, the younger boy's legs caught somewhere in between his own, his face pressed against his chest. The position wasn't particularly comfortable, but they were sort of up now, even if Hiro was barely hanging off of him, his feet shuffling against the carpet in an attempt to get them to straighten out and hold his weight.

Tadashi knew that wasn't going to happen, so he pulled them away from the wall, bending his legs so he could get a slightly better angle to grab behind Hiro's thighs and lift him up completely. Hiro squeaked as he was lifted and he squirmed weakly against him, but holding them up was a lot easier when Hiro wasn't dragging the ground.

Careful of the furniture, he made his way to the bathroom, pressing the door open with his shoulder. "Down we go," he mumbled against Hiro's ear in warning, setting him down on the toilet seat. Hiro hunched limply when he moved away to start running the water, but he'd barely managed to turn the knob before he was being pushed forward. He jerked as cold water hit his back and shoulders, looking behind him to see that Hiro had slumped into him, accidently pushing his upper body into the tub.

And maybe he should have sat him on the ground again, because the toilet seat looked a little precarious and if he fell from there he would hit the tiles and— _Breathe, breathe, breathe_, he told himself. Hiro was okay. A little confused, but okay— _what is okay in this situation?_— and he hadn't completely messed up yet.

Tadashi swallowed down the panic in his throat, pushing himself away from the spray and shaking the water out of his hair. Hiro turned his face away and squeezed his eyes closed, a ruby red blush travelling up his neck and painting his cheeks. If the situation was any different, Tadashi might have laughed.

But it wasn't and he didn't.

Instead, he checked the water with his hand, letting out a little sigh when he realized that it had warmed up significantly. Now want should he do? The water was warm enough, but he didn't think it was safe to put Hiro into the bottom of the tub by himself. He looked confused and he couldn't even hold himself up. And Tadashi could vaguely remember reading somewhere that drunk people weren't supposed to bath by themselves and this was sort of like that— _except it isn't_— and how was he supposed to do this?

He could just turn the water off and put him to bed, have him take a bath as soon as he woke up, when he would hopefully be a little more responsive with a little more motor control. Except one look at the stains between Hiro's thighs had him shaking his head, bypassing that idea entirely.

He couldn't let him wake up like that.

Tadashi ran his hand through his hair, looking down at himself. He was already mostly soaked anyway, and it wasn't like a little water would hurt him. He shuffled back and forth anxiously at the thought; Hiro blinked at him. Carefully, he grabbed Hiro under his arms and lowered the two of them into the tub with Hiro stretched out across him, his face buried somewhere around his chest. He wasn't quite sure if it was the right thing to do, but it was the best that he could come up with.

Hiro gasped when the water hit his back, his eyes opening as his legs moved, as if to stand up. His eyes weren't quite as dilated now and he seemed to have a little more control, even if it was just the shock. "Wha…," he mumbled, his brows knitted in confusion as he looked up at him, his inky black hair drooping into his face.

Tadashi just tightened the grip he had around his waist when he struggled and tried to move again. He would hurt himself, if he wasn't careful. "You're okay," he whispered. "We're just showering. To clean you up."

Doe brown eyes blinked at him. "Dirty," he murmured, and it was mostly incoherent, but it was a word all the same— and Tadashi was delighted. Maybe this was the right thing to do. He was talking now and moving a little more. That had to count for something.

He could do this. He hadn't completely screwed up yet.

"Yeah," he smiled, running his hands along Hiro's spine. "But you'll be clean soon."

Hiro pressed against his chest with his palm. His eyes slowly shifted from his face down to his clothed torso, the worn jeans sticking to his legs. He looked back up again. "No," he said firmly, some since of recognition coming back to his features, his brows knitted in concentration. "_Dirty_."

Tadashi's eyes narrowed a bit, his hands tightening around Hiro's waist. "I don't understand."

Hiro huffed then, his eyes lowering as he settled himself against his chest, curling in on himself as much as he could, the water beating down on them. And he must have given up on whatever it was that he was trying to say, because it wasn't much longer before he was asleep, his body going limp.

Tadashi figured that he could turn the water off at that point, maybe dry him off and put him to bed because he wasn't going to get any cleaner without some scrubbing— _don't think about it_— but instead, he just let the water continue to rain down on them, running his fingers along Hiro's spine and listening to his breathing.

They could stay just like this for a little while.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

**1\. I wanted to make Hiro sassy. Unfortunately, that didn't really work with the setting (two years is an awfully long time to maintain sassiness), so the "_Fuck you_" line in the beginning was pretty much the only part that made it in. **

**2\. For some reason, most people tend to write Tadashi as having everything all figured out. Personally, I think he just puts on appearances and is just as confused as everyone else. **

**3\. Aunt Cass was not supposed to receive her own scene. But, I like her so she did. The quotes that were tweaked from the movie have stars by them. Also, I elongated her name to Cassandra, because I have no idea what else Cass could be short for. **

**4\. Most of my information was taken from Disney Wiki. However, the wiki says that Hiro has an overbite and I am under the impression that that is 100% incorrect. That boy has an underbite. (i.e. his lower teeth overlap his upper teeth. It's all over his character sheets). **

**5\. The drug Hiro is under in the seventh scene is rohypnol. Common symptoms: muscle relaxation/loss of motor control, difficulty with motor movements, problems talking, memory loss, confusion, and dizziness. Also, I have never been drugged. **

**6\. This story was supposed to be one 10,000 word chapter. This is only the first half; it had a bit of a growth spurt. **

**7\. EDIT: The last section was removed after posting. It's not something I normally do, but I didn't like the scene when I wrote it and upon further less sleep deprived review, I really hate it. So, it's gone. **

**Production: Next chapter is planned to be uploaded on the 24th. But, I haven't written it yet, so we'll see. **

**Reviews are welcomed and responded to. I haven't written anything in a while, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. **


	2. Chapter 2

**So, this ended up way longer than it needed to be. At least it's on time...? **

**Response to ChlomeTov's Review: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I've actually been informed before that I have a bit of a "detail" problem in my writing (read: I put in way too many), so it's nice to know you liked them in the first half. **

**Summary: _In which Hiro's life isn't his own and Tadashi gets caught in the crossfire. AU, mild non-related Hidashi. _**

**Rating: M for violence, sexual themes/violence, and possible triggers. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Big Hero 6. I do, however, own all 5 of the original comics, several pieces of movie memorabilia, and the plot. **

**Happy reading~ **

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day 0**_

* * *

"_Can I try? I have a robot. I built it myself."_

_Hiro tensed his shoulders as the crowd laughed, an innocent smile stretched across his lips. He hugged his jacket a little closer to himself for added effect as the man in front of him snickered joylessly, his multitude of chins jiggling as he bounded a little closer, those beady black eyes of his staring right at him. _

"_Beat it, kid. House rules," the mediator spat, all thin bones and sharp features, with an eye patch covering one of her eyes and chopsticks sticking out of her inky black hair. Her mouth was small, but her words were piercing, "You gotta pay to play." _

"_Oh," he mumbled, big brown eyes wide as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled stack of bills and watched with a strange sense of satisfaction as her visible eye widened. He was prepared for this; he knew the rules. "Is this enough," he asked as he held the bundle out to her. _

_The man with the bulking frame stopped his snickering. "What's your name, little boy," he probed, leaning forward, his blue coat straining against his figure. _

"_Hiro," he responded, with a little lilt at the end, the kind that made everyone think he was just as inexperienced as his age portrayed him as— __**little do they know**__. "Hiro Takachiho."_

"_Prepare your bot, __**zero**__," the man chortled, throwing a stack of bills into the mediator's clay pot and taking his seat in the ring, causing a hefty shake in the warehouse's old flooring. _

_Hiro assumed that was permission for him to enter, so he took a step forward, placing his own carefully arranged bills into the mediator's awaiting container. She snapped it closed just as his fingers moved away, the lid almost crushing them. _

_And then, he did as he always did, placing his childish-looking robot into the ring and plopping down on the worn wood. The man cracked his neck and Hiro copied him, exaggerating his movements with wide brown eyes and boney elbows. Normally, he hated his child-like features, his big almond-shaped eyes and his skinny frame, but here, surrounded by adults with broad shoulders and mature gazes, he was golden. _

_His appearance only worked __**for**__ him in situations like this. _

_The mediator stepped forward, placing an outstretched red and black striped parasol in between them. "Two bots enter," she rumbled, "one bot leaves. Fighters ready?"_

_He leaned over on his palm, the edge of his sleeve catching under his hand, sneaking a peak at the man on the other side of the parasol. He was smirking, those beady black eyes of his focused only on his controller. _

_**This is going to be fun**__, he thought. _

"_Fight!"_

_And all at once, the parasol was removed, their bots moving forward. Hiro lightly thumbed at his controller, watching with less than innocent satisfaction as his robot wobbled toward the center of the makeshift ring, only to be devoured by the saws of the man's much larger robot. It was a quick battle; one that ended with his bot in pieces in between them and the crowd laughing in abundance. _

"_That was my first fight," he exclaimed, pushing forward on his hands and knees with wide eyes. "Can I try again?"_

"_No one likes a sore loser, little boy," the man sneered, snatching his winnings from the mediator's clay pot with a gruff laugh. "Go home."_

"_I've got more money," he tried, pulling a more carefully rolled stack of bills out of his jacket pocket. And that seemed to get his attention, beady black eyes turning back toward him, all slack jawed and expectant. Hiro played it up with a little quirk of his lips, a little widening of his eyes as he shrugged his shoulders. _

_The man smiled— and Hiro knew he had him. __**Hook, line, and sinker.**_

_They each placed more money inside the mediator's container and began again, taking their seats as the sharp-tongued woman before them placed her parasol in between them for the second time that night. "Fighter's ready? Fight!"_

_The man's bot moved forward again, and Hiro could only smile as his robot reassembled itself, smirking as he stretched out the controller in his hand to reveal the actual controls, the commands that he'd spent months perfecting down to every last detail. "Megabot," he called, voice darkening, "destroy."_

_The robot heeded his order, its childish features morphing into something far more sinister. And Hiro didn't even have to look to know that the man in front of him was thrown for a loop— he could just imagine the confused look on his face as his tiny robot zoomed forward and began to dismantle his own, his fingers flicking over the controls in practiced motions. His features lost their innocent edge; he was already thoroughly bored. _

_But that was okay, because the match was already over, his little robot reverting to its childish face, like nothing had ever happened. _

_And Hiro couldn't even describe the satisfaction beating at his chest when he saw the dumbstruck expression on the man's face, his robot torn to pieces. He wanted to smile, but he had a façade to uphold.*_

_So, he stood slowly, still smiling innocently as he made his way to the mediator. She opened her container for him and let him stuff the bills into his pockets, her cherry red lips set in a thin line as she watched him. Hiro knew she wouldn't stop him, though; she was the mediator. She got paid no matter who won. The problem was the hulking man on the floor who was just beginning to realize that he'd been hustled._

"_You little cheat," the man exclaimed, just as Hiro was making his way toward the door, his pockets sufficiently lined. _

_Hiro turned back toward him, backing away slowly with his hands held in front of him, palms out in surrender. He tried to smile without smirking as he made his way to the door and the awaiting alley. "It must have been beginner's luck. Really!" _

_The man wasn't buying it, his features darkening, those beady black eyes glaring into him. "No one hustles Yama," he said. _

_And Hiro could feel his throat beginning to tighten, adrenaline making its way through his veins. He felt his back hit the warehouse door and he slowly turned the knob. Yama, as the man called himself, was standing now and— Hiro knew all about this part of bot fighting as well. He knew all about the grudges and the fights that took place in the backs of alleyways. _

_But, that wasn't something that happened to him; he always got away. _

_He made a break for it, scrambling out the door and into the cold night air of San Fransokyo. It was snowing and Hiro could feel his legs freezing in his rumpled shorts, but he didn't bother trying to stop or zip up his jacket. He just ran down the alley and into the street, his trainers squeaking beneath him, sliding on the slush-covered asphalt. He could hear people coming up behind him— __**more than just Yama; what a sore loser**__— but he didn't look back. _

_He knew that would be a mistake. _

_He ran until his lungs gave out on him, until his side was on fire and his eyes had black spots dancing in front of them. Cautiously, he hid himself behind a dumpster, sinking to the sticky ground with a light __**plop**__. Hiro discreetly tilted his head back, steadying his breathing. He couldn't hear anything outside the blood pounding in his ears. There was no one there; he had outrun them. Just like he always did. _

_He smirked at the thought, crossing his legs and pulling the wads of cash out of his pockets. He straightened the money between his hands, ignoring the sting in his fingers at the biting cold as he counted his prize. Hiro smiled once he was done, zipping up his jacket with freezing fingers, cool puffs of air escaping his lips as he breathed._

_He had just enough now._

_He'd been saving for weeks, and he finally had enough money to pay for his Aunt Cass to go on a cruise for the holidays while the café was shutdown. She was always working for the two of them and this was going to be her Christmas present from him this year— two weeks without aprons and doughnuts and stress. It was the least he could do for her after everything she'd done for him. And his fingers were jittery just thinking about giving the tickets to her. She'd love them. _

_She just wasn't allowed to know where the money came from. _

_Smiling at the thought, he peeked his head around the dumpster, standing when he didn't see anyone. Shivering, he shifted his weight back and forth, his ankles creaking against his shoes, his shorts swaying in the frigid wind. He kind of wish he'd left them behind tonight. They made him look younger, but he could feel the chill creeping up his legs. He would be sick tomorrow, if he wasn't careful. _

_But that was fine, because this was going to be his last foray into bot fighting for the time being. Right now, he just wanted to go home and lounge away the holidays, maybe play some video games or upgrade Megabot; he might even help out in the café if he felt up to it. __**That'd make Aunt Cass happy**__, he thought, smiling to himself. She'd probably make him some of her specialty hot wings as a treat if he did— and wasn't that reason enough to do anything she wanted?_

_Lost in thought, Hiro trudged toward the mouth of the alley— and was promptly thrown against the asphalt, a baseball bat colliding with his stomach just as his trainers tapped the street. He fell backward, the back of his head hitting the concrete even as he tried to guard himself, hands clutching at his stomach as his lungs began to constrict, adrenaline seeping into his veins. _

_Black and white spots danced in front of his eyes as he moaned, coughing, frozen fingers twisting in the fabric of his jacket, jittery and unsure. Because this had never happened before. He __**always **__got away. No one ever caught him; no one ever touched him. _

_And there was so much panic building in his chest, he couldn't remember how to breathe. _

_Calloused hands grabbed his arm, dragging him upright and pressing him against the wall. Nausea built up in his gut; the world spun before his eyes. And everything hurt. "This the kid, boss?"_

_Hiro blinked, trying to make his eyes focus. There was a man in front of him, with a red shirt and a goatee, a beanie on his head. He didn't recognize him— and he really didn't understand why he was holding him so tightly against the wall. Or why he was just a fuzzy outline in front of his eyes._

_His head hurt. There was something wrong with it. _

"_That's him." And then, there was a bulky frame leaning over him, his stale breath tickling his nose. Hiro groaned, knitting his brows, trying to focus; he recognized that voice. "Have you had a nice night, little boy?"_

_Hiro whimpered before he could stop himself, a shiver running down his spine; he knew it wasn't from the frozen wall behind him. __**Yama**__, his brain supplied, __**he didn't like losing**__. "I— if this is about the money, you— you can take it. Take all of it," he breathed, dread steadily rising in his chest when Yama just smirked at him, his meaty hands sliding into his pockets in a way that was almost predatory, his thick fingers pressing against his skin through his clothes for just a moment too long. _

"_I'll be doing that," he said, pulling out the bundled paper bills and fanning them in front of Hiro's buttoned nose, "but I want to know where you really got that bot of yours. I could make quite a bit of money with that. Far more than this." Yama flicked the money to the side, black eyes crinkling in satisfaction as Hiro watched the bills sink into a wet puddle of slush left by the snow. "Now, be a good boy and tell me where you bought it," Yama cooed. _

"_I told you," Hiro tried, swallowing, attempting to breathe through his nose, to stop the bile rising in his throat because his stomach __**hurt**__ and there was something wrong with his head— and this had never happened before. "I— I made it." _

_Yama looked unimpressed, grabbing the baseball bat from another man at the mouth of the alley that Hiro couldn't quite see, twirling it around in his hands. "I could believe you," he stated with a little entirely contrived pout, "but I just don't." _

_He swung the bat forward, right into his knees. There was a sickening crunch, but calloused hands were stuffed into Hiro's mouth, keeping him from screaming as he doubled over, only barely held up by the man in front of him. _

_Yama laughed, his men following along as he bent down to Hiro's level, bushy black eyebrows raised. "Would you like to try again," he asked in a coddling tone._

_And Hiro could feel himself shake his head, tears running down his cheeks, black and white spots dancing a little more now. He couldn't focus. Everything hurt. His head, his stomach, his knees— and there was blood coming from somewhere because he could feel it dribbling down his neck and— _

_He was going to die here. _

_He could feel the panic pooling in his chest at the thought, his heart hammering in denial. No, no, __**no**__— there had to be some way out of this. But his legs hurt so much— and everything was so unfocused now. He couldn't follow anything for very long and it didn't even matter, because everything was moving so fast and if only he could get up and get away, he could run home, to Aunt Cass or the police— someone, __**anyone**__. _

"_I asked you a question," rough hands grabbed his hair, pulling him up and slamming the back of his head against the wall behind him. Nothing made sense anymore— he always got away. __**Always**__, "and I expect it to be answered."_

_Yama let Hiro crumple to the ground in a heap, arms circling his stomach as he fell into the slush, the muck beneath him soaking through his clothes. "I… I made it," he tried again, voice weak and wobbly, fingers tightening their grip around his jacket, spots tainting the edge of his vision. "It's magnetic— magnetic bearing servos," he mumbled, mostly to himself, but Yama leaned over him, meaty hands squeezing his bruised knee caps. _

_Hiro hissed, Yama's hand coming up to lift his chin. "Isn't that interesting," Yama coddled, brushing his fingers against his cheek— __**please stop, please stop, please, **_**please**_** stop**__— and breathing against his nose. "So, it looks like little Hiro knows how to make bots. And very good ones at that— I think I want one."_

_He coughed, horrified by the blood pooling beneath his head, his eyes widening as he attempted to lift himself up, but Yama's hand was still at his face and— he couldn't breathe. He just couldn't breathe. "Take it," he pleaded, hands moving, fumbling to try to get the controller out of his pocket. "I don't— I don't need it. Just… just let me go." And he just wanted to go home. _

_Black eyes bore into him, a sneer pulling at pale lips. "I told you," he cooed. "No one hustles Yama." _

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day 33**_

* * *

"Wha.."

Tadashi smiled at the voice, turning away from the tally mark he had half managed to scrape into the wall with his fingernail. Hiro was leaning on his elbows, groaning as he tried to lift himself up. He blushed despite himself when he noticed that the baby blue sheets were beginning to slide down the boy's back, revealing his sickly pale skin and the tiny indentations in his spine. He'd covered him up immediately after the shower, partially to keep him from catching a cold and partly to keep himself from looking at him for an indecent amount of time.

Hiro deserved his privacy.

"Good morning," he called quietly, standing up slowly. "How are you feeling?"

Big brown eyes blinked at him wearily, calloused fingers reaching up to rub the crust out of them even as Hiro fell back to the bed, his face hitting the pillow with a small _woosh_. He groaned again, eyes narrowing as he sluggishly rolled to face him fully. And then, he must have realized that he was naked, because he was grabbing the blankets and pulling them up a little higher, a ruby red blush running up his neck and coloring his cheeks.

"I— I," he tried, locking his jaw, his tongue swirling around behind his cheeks— _probably cottonmouth from the drugs— _and poking out against his skin. He looked thoroughly confused, his brows knitted, his knees scrambling closer to his chest, his hands gripping the blankets. He opened his mouth again, but then snapped it closed, shaking his head. "What happened," he finally asked with a breathy whisper, one of his hands coming up to shakily run through his hair, his chest rising and falling abnormally fast.

Tadashi just smiled at him, taking a step closer to the bed and cautiously allowing himself to sink onto the surface in front of Hiro, his weight dipping into it and pulling them slightly closer together. "Do you remember anything," he whispered.

Hiro shook his head, letting out a miserable little moan, calloused fingers gripping his hair, "No."

And Tadashi let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, sighing in pure relief. Carefully, he placed his hand on Hiro's ankle through the blanket. He blinked at him, all doe brown eyes and panicked breaths— and as much as he hated to admit it, Tadashi had been hoping for this. He hadn't wanted Hiro to remember anything.

Really, it was better this way. He could handle this.

"That's okay," he soothed, rubbing his fingers against the younger boy's ankle, the sheets bunching beneath his palm. "Yama brought you back last night. You were dirty, so I gave you a shower and put you to bed." He didn't even think about mentioning the way he had to carry Hiro's naked body against him or the way Hiro had curled around him at the bottom of the shower, all lanky frame and scruffy black hair.

But it didn't seem to matter, because Hiro was hiding his face in his knees, his arms curling around himself. Tadashi could see the tips of his ears; they were painted red. Patiently, he watched as the boy's breathing began to even out, his fingers tightly wound in his hair, tightening and loosening their hold at random intervals. "I'm sorry," he finally panted into his knees, long after Tadashi had given up on him responding. "You should've— you should've just left me in the corner or something… I— I would have taken care of it when I woke up."

Tadashi blanched, russet eyes staring at him incredulously. Leave him? In the corner? There was no way he would have ever done that. Even if Yama hadn't been so insistent that he take care of him, he would have done exactly the same thing. He wouldn't have let him wake up like that— _Is that what he's used to,_ he thought, his heart sinking down into his gut. Was it normal for him to wake up like— like _that_, all beat up and covered in whatever that was— _don't think about it_— without a clue as to what had happened?

_God_, he was going to be sick.

He shook his head at himself, swallowing thickly. No. He couldn't react like that right now. He couldn't get sick or be upset. He had to comfort Hiro. This was his job; this was why he was here.

_I can do this, I can do this, I can do this_, he chanted to himself as he leaned forward, carefully pulling Hiro's hands away from his hair and lifting his face to look at him. His cheeks were still red and his bottom lip was pulled firmly between his teeth, but he looked okay, those pretty brown orbs of his glassy but focused. Tadashi tried to keep smiling. "I would never do that," he assured; Hiro glanced away from him, his buttoned nose scrunched. He looked like he was trying not to cry. "Besides, this is why I'm here. To take care of you."

He let him go then, watching as Hiro burrowed back into his knees, hugging himself at his stomach. And Tadashi didn't know what else he could do, so he just ruffled his hair and tugged the blankets a little closer to him, because that's what his mother always did for him when he was sick or upset and it always seemed to work. Except it didn't this time, because Hiro's shoulders were starting to shake and— what was he supposed to do now?

He didn't know. He never knew.

Hesitating, he touched his shoulder, and Hiro seemed to freeze, tensing and going still. Tadashi leaned forward, brushing his hand through his hair. "I'm going to go get you some water, okay? And then I want you to eat something. They brought lunch in a little while ago."

Hiro nodded and Tadashi hated himself as he walked into the bathroom, filling up the plastic cup by the sink with water from the facet. He didn't know how to deal with tears or the emotional hurt, so he just ignored it, opting for the easier route of dealing with his physical well-being. And that was good because Hiro did need to drink something and put some food in his stomach, but that wasn't the bigger issue here and— _god, they couldn't have picked a worse person for this_.

When he got back into the room, cup filled to the brim in his hand, Hiro looked a little more composed, sitting upright with the blankets held up to his shoulders, but leaning back against the headboard. His eyes were wide and a little red-rimmed; it looked like he tried to smile at him when he came into view. And Tadashi's heart ached, because he was trying so hard to seem normal— but he looked so, so tired.

Swallowing passed the lump in his throat, Tadashi sat back down on the edge of the bed, holding out the glass of water like some sort of peace offering. Hiro took it with shaking hands, cupping it between his palms and rubbing his fingertips along the cool plastic. He brought it to his lips and slowly drank it, big brown eyes closing as he let out a little moan. And Tadashi couldn't stop himself from watching in fascination as his throat bobbed up and down with each swallow.

He smiled genuinely when he was done, taking the empty glass back and shuffling it from one hand to the other. "Do you want some more," he asked.

Hiro shook his head, putting more of his weight against the headboard, fingers knotting in the blankets. "Thank you."

Tadashi ruffled his hair, ignoring the way he flinched beneath his fingers. "Of course. Would you like an apple now?" Soup would be better, something warm with a lot of broth, but he'd asked the burly man who brought their lunch for it and received nothing but a glare in reply. Apples would have to do for now.

"No. I— I really don't think I can eat anything," Hiro whispered, skinny shoulders shrugging at him guiltily.

And that really wasn't what Tadashi wanted to hear because if he had him eating and drinking, he would at least be able to tell himself that he'd done _something_, but that was stupid and he was selfish for thinking that way. Hiro was the one getting hurt here. Tadashi was really just an insurance policy with the added benefit of healthcare. He never left the room— and the people here never bothered him.

He was just… here. And _god_, he just wanted to do _something_.

"Okay," he finally said, gently squeezing Hiro's knee and reaching down to place the cup on the floor.

Hiro blinked at him when he righted himself again, doe brown eyes staring at him as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "I…," he trailed, looking away and then back again, a blush settling across his cheeks. He looked uncomfortable, squirming this way and that beneath the blankets. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," Tadashi shot back, almost on instinct, smiling sympathetically as the blush painting Hiro's cheeks deepened, as he pulled his knees in a little tighter, "but of course you can. You can ask me anything you want." He tried to sound reassuring. Hiro seldom started conversations and Tadashi was more than delighted to see him do so.

Maybe he hadn't completely messed up yet.

Or maybe he had and Hiro was just a lot more resilient than the average person.

"What's your family like," Hiro whispered, looking away. And Tadashi just smiled at the charming gap between his teeth, at the way he squirmed under his gaze. He could answer this question. That was something he could do.

"Wonderful," he breathed, scooting a little closer. "They were, anyway."

"I'm sorry," Hiro blurted out at the past tense, covering his mouth. "I didn't mean to—"

Tadashi cut him off with a shake of his head, moving his hands away from his mouth before he could start panicking again— because that never got them anywhere. "Don't worry about it. They died in a car wreck a couple of years ago. It was a freak accident; it doesn't even bother me anymore," he soothed, carefully reaching up to run his hands through Hiro's hair. "But they were amazing while they were alive. Really. They were the best parents I could have ever asked for. I'm glad they were around for as long as they were."

Hiro's blinked at him then, his fingers wiggling nervously in his lap, eyes lighting up. "How…?"

He grinned at the genuine curiosity in his voice, leaning back against the headboard. "Well, they were just always there. When I was in elementary school, one of them was always waiting at the gate to pick me up when classes were over, even if they were busy. And when I was sick, my mom always stayed home from work and made me soup.

"She'd stay in my room with me all day— and we'd watch one of those awful sci-fi marathons on TV. It was like a tradition, because when my dad would get home, he would always come in and lecture my mom about keeping me up watching movies, but then he'd crawl into bed with us in his suit and start watching too." Tadashi laughed at himself, at the memories dancing around in his head. "I'm sorry. That's probably not a very good answer."

"No," Hiro said hurriedly, shifting around on his palms, leaning a little closer toward him, "That was perfect."

He smiled, tilting his head a bit to the side. "What about you," he asked. "What are your parents like?" And he was honestly curious. Hiro never opened up about himself. When they talked, it was more about Tadashi's life on the outside, not Hiro's.

But that was probably the wrong thing to say, because Hiro was tensing up beside him, his lips pulled in a tight line. He squirmed against the headboard.

"I'm sorry. If you're not comfortable telling me, you don't have to," Tadashi soothed, cautiously placing his hand on his knee and running it back and forth up and down his leg.

Hiro looked at the hand and then at his face. He didn't tense or move away. Instead, he did something that Tadashi really wasn't expecting— he pressed his shoulder up against him, effectively moving his weight from the headboard to him with a little sigh, his face burning bright red. "Don't be. Don't be sorry," he said. And Tadashi couldn't really see his face with him leaning against his arm, his fluffy black hair blocking his view, but he sounded okay. Okay was good. "I just… don't really have parents," he said at length, glancing up at him through his eyelashes.

Tadashi felt himself swallow, anxiety knotting in his chest. He knew he shouldn't pry because Hiro seemed so easy to break and he didn't know how to put the pieces back together if he made a wrong move— but they were just talking and Hiro didn't seem upset yet. Besides, he wanted to know more about the other boy. He wanted to know how he got here and what he was like on the outside, how he felt about the situation they were in, and how he'd come to the conclusion that killing himself was the only way out.

He wanted to know _everything. _And Tadashi was surprised by that realization.

"I'm sorry," he said at length. "I didn't know."

Hiro just shrugged against him, looking away. "It's okay. My parents— they didn't want kids. And when I came along, they weren't really prepared for it. I was a difficult baby too. I— I cried a lot and I didn't like to eat or sleep much; I was always sick. And they just didn't know what to do with me, so they… decided to give me away."

His jaw tightened, his arm coming to loop around Hiro's shoulders, pulling him close. Hiro tensed a bit in his hold, but let him keep him there, his knees squirming just slightly beneath the blankets. "That's awful," he said. And he meant it. He couldn't image parents like that, and with the way Hiro talked, he made it sound like it was his fault that his parents didn't want him.

And that just wasn't okay.

But Hiro just dismissed him with a little shake of his head. "It's fine. Really. They left me at my Aunt's café when I was three, with adoption papers and everything. Imagine her surprise when she realized they weren't coming back to get me. She thought she was just babysitting," he laughed a little under his breath, looking up at him through his lashes again. And to Tadashi's disbelief, he didn't look sad at all. In fact, he was smiling at him, his little crooked grin pulling at his cheeks.

"Yeah," Tadashi said, with an upward lilt, unsure of what to say, but happy because Hiro was talking and that didn't happen very often and— this was making him feel better, so he would keep listening until Hiro didn't want to talk anymore. "What's she like? Your aunt?"

"Amazing," he breathed, quirking his mouth a bit to the side. But then his brows furrowed and he corrected himself, "Stressed. I… I stressed her out a lot." And that smile was disappearing now, his shoulders hunching like he was trying to make himself disappear beneath the blankets.

Tadashi ruffled his hair, sitting up a little straighter, disappointment flickering in his chest. He wanted him to smile again. It hardly ever happened— and it was there; he just didn't know how to bring it back. He had to do something, _anything_. "I bet she misses you," he said without thinking, "even if you did stress her out."

Hiro snorted humorlessly, pulling out of his hold and burrowing back beneath the blankets, his bare shoulder sticking out, his back to him. "I've been here for over two years," he mumbled into the pillow beneath his head. "It's better if she's forgotten about me."

Tadashi felt his heart break.

* * *

**Waiting: **_**Day 42**_

* * *

"Do you want a ride home?"

GoGo popped her gum, scowling at her bike. She'd messed up one of the wheels again. _Distracted_, she chastised herself. _You're going to fail the semester at this rate. _Wasabi cleared his throat behind her, and she could feel her back stiffen, her lips set in a thin line as she grabbed the wheel and chunked it over her shoulder none too gently. She listened for the sound of metal hitting metal, the clanking of the failed wheel joining all the others, and upon hearing it, she turned around. Wasabi was looking at her, all big framed and worried with another one of his ridiculous green sweaters stretched across his chest.

"No," she said, rolling her gum around in the back of her mouth. It was completely flavorless now. "I think I'm going to be here for a while. Midterms are coming up."

Wasabi nodded in understanding, though he didn't look like he really believed her, his dreadlocks shuffling around his neck, his chocolate brown eyes boring into her own. But that was fine. He didn't have to believe her if he didn't want to. "Okay," he finally said. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

She nodded, waving him off as he shouldered his bag and disappeared through the door. Now, it was just her. Just her and all the empty space. Wasabi was headed home, Honey Lemon and Fred were at the basketball game, and Tadashi—

GoGo gritted her teeth, tightening her hands into fists. Stupid Tadashi who was always supposed to be there after her, who stayed in the lab until morning. Stupid Tadashi who was supposed to be bent over his workstation in his private office, ready to whisper goodbye at her back when she finally packed up to leave.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Tadashi who _wasn't_ there like he was _supposed_ to be.

She huffed at herself, glancing at the door to his lab— open just like it was when she had found it over a month ago now— and she could feel her chest tightening, anger pooling beneath her skin for what certainly wasn't the first time. She was furious. Furious at Tadashi for not being there, for his absence that distracted her during her classes and kept her up all night, roaming the city and posting those ridiculous missing person posters that had his face plastered across the front. She was furious at him for not being in the lab when she'd gotten in that faithful day in January, for leaving his stupid hat on his desk and not answering his phone when she'd called and called and called.

And above all of the anger she directed at Tadashi and his absence, there was the anger, the pure fury and hatred that she directed at herself because he was _gone _and she'd _left_ him. GoGo was the last one in the lab with him that night— just like she always was. She knew he looked tired and preoccupied, but she hadn't _waited_ for him. She hadn't asked if he'd wanted to walk home with her, if he'd wanted to go get a bite to eat or just pack up for the night.

She'd just left like she always did, ignoring the goodbye he'd thrown her way and walking right out the door.

She'd expected him to be there to greet her in the morning. But he wasn't. She'd come into the lab and there was no one around to mumble a good morning at her. His hat was sitting on his desk and his bag was in his chair, like he'd just walked away for a bit, maybe to get a snack from the vending machine down the hall— but he hadn't come back.

And GoGo had waited, because she'd felt like something was wrong. Because Tadashi not being there was not part of their routine and it threw her off. She'd sat at her desk for thirty minutes, an hour, _two_— and he didn't show up.

After she'd missed her first couple of classes, she'd called the police.

They hadn't wanted to listen to her at first, because Tadashi was an adult who'd just reached drinking age and really, kids like him disappeared for a couple of days all the time. _He'll turn up_, they had said. But she hadn't backed down. She'd just talked and talked and talked at them. She'd started yelling when they had reassured her that everything was probably fine— because Tadashi not being there was a sign that everything was most definitely _not fine_— and then Honey Lemon had walked in and stared at her with her pretty green eyes and taken the phone away.

Honey was better at talking to people.

The police showed up about an hour later, but all they'd managed to find was his green jacket in the parking lot on the backside of the campus, near where the food trucks huddled late at night. It was like he'd gone for a bite to eat and just disappeared.

GoGo couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand him not being there, the way the others were worried but still went about their days like they always did. And above all, she couldn't stand how _motionless_ she was. She felt like she was stuck, like she was just standing in place waiting for him with nothing to do until he came back. She searched for him— _of course_— but nothing she did ever amounted to much and she'd never been so unable to make progress before.

She huffed at herself, banging her fist against her workstation, pushing away from it and taking a step toward Tadashi's lab. She crossed the threshold without hesitation, stomping into the middle of his room before stopping, taking in the way his tools were haphazardly organized, how everything was somehow everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was just how he'd left it.

And she hated it. She hate, hate, _hated_ it!

She kicked his chair with her sneaker in a fit of childish rage, watching with satisfaction as it toppled over, several of the papers perched on his desk flapping down to the floor. And then she just deflated, her shoulders curling inward, her mouth stilling around the ever present bubble gum in her mouth. Now, it wasn't the same as he'd left it— and somehow, that was even worse.

Guilt gnawed at her chest as she carefully picked up his chair, rolling it back to its previous position. She bent down to the ground and shuffled Tadashi's papers into her hands, settling them on her lap.

And Tadashi was smiling at her.

It was an article for the paper— one that ran in the school's monthly newsletter and somehow managed to grace the back of the city-wide newspaper for a day back in January. One of the English students had written it, featuring Tadashi and the robot he was building, but it was horribly inaccurate. The student hadn't really understood everything Tadashi had tried to explain to her about Baymax's features and she'd ended up painting Tadashi as the nurse, instead of Baymax. Tadashi had been so confused when he'd gotten a copy of the article.

GoGo snorted at the thought, shaking her head at the image of Tadashi on the page. It was an awful picture, all grainy and distorted, but Tadashi looked happy in it. And it was kind of nice to see him on something other than his missing poster.

With a little groan, she lifted herself up, meticulously placing the papers back on Tadashi's desk, exactly as they were before. She hated the way it looked, but she would leave it be until Tadashi came back.

She was sure she could convince him to move some things around when the time came.

_Now_, she thought, looking back at her dismantled bike and her basket of failed wheels, _back to the bike. _

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day 812**_

* * *

Hiro sighed to himself, burying his face into the pillow in front of him, his hair sticking up this way and that, sweat sliding down his brow. He pushed his arms under his chest and lifted, looking at the man beside him— a fair haired man with blue eyes and an arrogant grin— and listening for any signs of movement. The man didn't stir.

He was asleep.

_Finally_, Hiro thought, shaking his head to himself as he carefully pulled the man's arm away from his waist and slid out of the bed. His knees buckled as soon as he tried to stand, his toes curling in the carpet as he grabbed the edge of the bed in an attempt to keep himself upright. Something began to dribble down his thigh; he didn't bother to look.

Instead, he hobbled over to the corner of the room and allowed himself to sink down onto the floor, his bare back against the wall, his knees pulled to his chest. He felt disgusting— used and abused and above all else, absolutely _filthy_. And he knew that he was covered in the kind of dirt that a bath wouldn't wash away, that he would always be able to feel this man's touches— and the touches of all the others before him— against his skin.

He would never be able to forget the way they forced his mouth open to kiss him. Or the way they rubbed their hands all along his thighs, the way they grabbed his hips and forced him to just lay there and _take it_— because he was powerless to stop them and they absolutely knew it. And it was even worse when they made him reciprocate— when they made him touch them and kiss them and—

He squeezed his eyes shut to the point of pain, rubbing his palms against the carpet as if to wipe away the invisible muck that was coating his skin. It didn't really help, but he felt some of the ache in his chest dissipate at the action, at the way his hands were being rubbed raw against the plush fabric. But he stopped as soon as he palms started to sting because he knew that hurting himself wasn't a healthy response to this and last time— The last time he'd hurt himself, he'd gotten Tadashi wrapped up in all of this too.

And he'd learned his lesson the first time.

Shaking, he took a deep breath, opening his stinging eyes as he exhaled. He blinked in an attempt to make his eyes adjust to the light again, the dim fixture above the bed casting a shadowy figure at the wall by the door, a much brighter streak of light stretching across the floor and tickling his ankle. He started, staring at it, curling and uncurling his toes before following the streak with his eyes all the way back to its origin.

The light was coming from in between a set of curtains hanging down from the wall. A window. He was in a room with a window, he realized, his eyes widening as he unconsciously shuffled closer toward it. A window, a window, a _window_.

He hadn't seen one of those in years.

Anxiously, he glanced at the man on the bed and then at the closed door. The man was still asleep, spread out over the blankets in all his naked glory and the door— Hiro knew it was locked without having to check it. It always was. Someone would come and get him when the sleeping man's time was up and who knew when that would be. It would be smarter for him to just stay put, to stay seated in the corner of the room and wait for someone to bring him a new set of clothes and drag him back to his room.

But it was a window, one that led outside where there was grass and open air and _normal_ people— and he really just wanted to see if it was still the same as he remembered it being. If they were still in San Fransokyo and if the light from the sun still hurt his eyes because it had been such a long time since he'd been able to look up at it and—

He was pulling the curtains back before he realized what he was doing, standing in front of the window with wide brown eyes and a gaping mouth. He tightened his grip around the curtain's smooth fabric at the sight before him, big brown orbs watering in the direct sunlight.

There were skyscrapers everywhere, billboards littering their sides, windows that looked down at the warped streets below. And there were so many people! They were scattered around the sidewalks under the building he was in, wearing colorful coats as they bustled from place to place. They were riding in cars on the road. They were eating at the rooftop café right across from him, with their food steaming on their tables as they ate and chatted with their friends.

And he was absolutely mesmerized by it all, placing one of his hands up to the cool glass and pushing against it. His other hand came up to his chest, and he pressed at the ache that was steadily climbing there, eating at his rib cage, constricting around his lungs.

Seeing it only made him want it more.

He knew that he was never going to be able to leave, that this was just a hopeless little adventure on his part, because nothing would ever come of it, but he couldn't stop himself from pushing his face against the glass, watching in fascination as a pretty woman at the café brought her drink to her lips.

Hiro blinked when she spit it out, dropping her cup back to the table, not seeming to mind that it spilled. He wondered why—

But then she was standing up, leaning over her table with her hair trailing along the spill and she was _looking at him_.

His breath quickened at the realization, his eyes widening— what was he supposed to do? This had never happened before. No one ever saw him— at least, not anyone that was ever going to _help_ him— and he was just standing there— _naked— and oh god, this is mortifying_— but she was still staring at him, her mouth hanging open.

And this was his chance. This was his chance to get out of here, to signal her that something was wrong, that he was being held here, that she should call someone to come and get him because he'd been here for such a long time and he just wanted to go home to Aunt Cass and the cat and his—

"_**If you try to escape again, you won't be getting off with a few bruises. I'll bring you back here— and I'll make you watch me kill him, cutting him into itsy bitsy little pieces."**_

Hiro stumbled away from the window, forcing the curtain closed as he went, his breath coming in pants at the memory of Yama pointing his gun at Tadashi, at the threat that he knew wasn't empty. And he'd been about to signal her! To try to find a way out— and Tadashi was still in the room and he was going to get him killed with his stupid, reckless, _childish_ desire to go home.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. _He couldn't do this_.

He was an awful, despicable, _dirty _person— and he was never going to leave this place.

He was never going to get out.

* * *

**Panicking: **_**Day 1**_

* * *

"_9-1-1, what's your emergency?"_

"_Okay— okay. This is going to sound completely crazy, but I just saw a boy through a window."_

"_Ma'am, this line is for emergency calls only. If you'd like to make a complaint about—"_

"_No, no, no— he was naked and— oh my god— he looked like a teenager. And he was just standing there."_

"_Ma'am, we do not respond to exhibitionists. If you would like to make a complaint, you'll have to call the po—"_

"_No! Something was __**wrong**__! I promise. He was in the building across from me and he was just standing at the window and please, please— I swear I'm not making this up. You have got to send someone out here."_

"_Do you have any proof that this boy was in any sort of distress?"_

"_He was __**naked**__!"_

"_Ma'am, I cannot have a unit respond unless there is a clear sign of distress."_

"_But— but, there was something wrong! I __**know**__ it!"_

"_I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to contact your police agency directly in order to file a compl—"_

"_I am not filing a complaint!"_

"_Ma'am, I understand that you're upset, but I am going to have to direct you to another line." _

"_What other line? I'm telling you that this is an emergency! Something was __**wrong**__!"_

"_Ma'am, please stay on the line while you are transferred." _

* * *

**Captivity: **_**Day 50**_

* * *

Tadashi stared at the sandwich in his hands thoughtfully, his mouth quirking a bit to the side as he shifted it this way and that. Sighing, he pressed his fingertips into the bread, watching in fascination as it tore and dark pink jelly began to ooze out of the newly formed hole.

He had always loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; they were easily his favorite kind. As a kid, they had been an essential part of his day. Tadashi used to beg his mother to let him have one for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and while she'd never agreed to his childish demands, she had indulged his love of jelly by buying him a new flavor every other week. And his fondness for them had continued well into adulthood. He always made one for himself for lunch when he had afternoon classes and knew he wouldn't have enough time to grab a bite to eat at the campus's cafeteria. They were the halfway point— the highlight— of his long days toiling away on campus, moving from lecture to lecture.

They had always been his favorite— but he absolutely _hated _them now.

Scowling at the oozing bread, Tadashi glanced at the tally he'd placed on the wall, quickly counting up the uneven marks that dipped into the first layer of paint. Fifty days. Today was the fiftieth day in a row he had been brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. His stomach flipped at the thought, his nose scrunching up in something like disgust as he placed the dilapidated sandwich back onto the metal tray beside its twin and the two apples that Hiro had refused to eat.

He had tried to convince Hiro to eat with him because he'd adamantly refused dinner the night before— _that's not healthy; he's already so thin_— but he hadn't been particularly enthusiastic in trying to persuade him. Tadashi didn't even want to eat the same thing anymore— how was he supposed to convince Hiro to eat when he'd been stuck with the same meals for over two years? He probably found everything they were served revolting at this point. And Tadashi really couldn't blame him for not wanting to eat.

Except, maybe he could, because it was entirely likely that Hiro's refusal to eat had nothing to do with the taste of the food and everything to do with some type of emotional stress. _Not his fault, whatever it is, _Tadashi quickly corrected himself. Despite the fact that he really didn't blame Hiro for anything— how could he?— the way he would lock up on him was becoming increasingly frustrating. He just wanted to help and he tried his best to let Hiro know that— that Tadashi was there to listen to him or help him if he was hurting, that they were in this together.

Tadashi scoffed at the thought, shaking his head as he nibbled at his bottom lip. Stupid. _God_, he was so _stupid_. They were in this together in the sense that they were being held in the same room by the same people, but their situations were entirely different. He was left to his own devices most of the time. He was given food, access to water, a bed— and he really didn't have to do anything for it. Hiro, on the other hand— he was the _real_ captive in all of this.

Most days, someone would come in the morning to drag Hiro out of the room. Sometimes, he would come back a few hours later in exactly the same condition as he had left. Those were the good times, the times that didn't make Tadashi so angry and so concerned that he was left shaking, trying to plaster a smile on his face in order to provide some since of normalcy. Other times, Hiro would come back with bruises peppered along his neck or his thighs. His clothes, when they were there, would be skewed around his hips and rumpled along his shoulders. And his eyes.

Those were the worst. The way those pretty brown eyes would look away from him and shame would settle on Hiro's cheeks— it made him want to hit something, _someone_. But the only someone around was Hiro and he certainly wasn't going to take it out on him. It wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault.

Tadashi was just frustrated with his own uselessness.

Russet colored eyes glanced up at the bed, their owner leaning his head back to get a slightly better view from his position on the floor. He sighed at the sight before him, quietly standing up and shuffling over to the bed. Hiro was rocking back and forth on his heels, his arms locked firmly around his knees, his knuckles white. And he'd been that way for hours now.

"Hey," Tadashi whispered as he sat down, the bed dipping just slightly. Hiro continued to rock; he wasn't surprised. He had tried to knock him out of it multiple times already, but nothing he said seemed to work. After the younger boy had returned the night before with panicked eyes and out of control breaths, all he had managed to get him to say was _I'm sorry_. And he'd said that repeatedly until he'd curled into a ball and started rocking.

This was almost better than listening to him gasping between apologizes. Almost.

"Hey, Hiro," he tried again, voice still quiet as he reached for the other boy's ankle. The rocking stopped abruptly once he made contact, the muscles of his foot tensing beneath his hand, but then it started up again, not seeming to care that his hand was still there and that it was causing Hiro's body to sway slightly to the left instead of straight. Tadashi swallowed the lump in his throat, the concern bubbling in his chest. Hiro needed a _doctor_, not a robotics student that had no idea what he was doing. "It's just me— Tadashi. You know me…"

Hiro continued to rock, his inky black hair swaying just slightly, his ankles rising and falling as they moved him back and forth.

Tadashi ran his hand through his hair, biting back the miserable little noise that he knew was sure to escape if he didn't keep his throat closed. He didn't need to appear weak right now. He had to get Hiro out of this— _whatever it is_— and find out what was wrong. Then, he could fix it. Or rationalize it— or _something_. "Come on, Hiro. I— I know you're in there, okay? I just need you to talk to me."

He held his breath, hope rising in his chest when Hiro's ankles faltered— but it was just a dip in the mattress throwing him off. His motions continued as if nothing had changed— and Tadashi really didn't know what he was supposed to do. He'd tried talking with him several times before, even going so far as to beg him to just say something, to tell him what was wrong, but that hadn't worked. Neither had ruffling his hair or rubbing his back. Tadashi had hoped that he would come out of it on his own after a while, but that possibility was getting slimmer and slimmer with every passing hour and—

Oh god, he was _useless_.

He'd tried everything he could think of short of physical violence— _not going to happen_— and nothing seemed to work. Hiro was still moving back and forth against the rumpled sheets, his knuckles white from the force of his grip around his knees. Something was very wrong. And Tadashi couldn't do anything about it.

"Hiro… I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong, okay? And then, no matter what it is, I—I promise—," he cut himself off, listening as a whirling sound seemed to echo through the room, panic sinking deep into his chest. Someone was coming in. They couldn't take Hiro like this. _Oh god oh god oh god_— what was he going to do?

The door swung open, banging into the wall with unnecessary force as Yama stomped his way into the room, beady eyes tinted with fury, his cheeks reddened with rage. "Where is he," he screeched.

And Tadashi hadn't been expecting that at all, his breath quickening because Yama hardly ever came to their room and he was angry so something was wrong and— _Hiro_. He was looking for Hiro. _Oh god— no, no, no, no_— he didn't— he couldn't—

Tadashi jumped in front of the boy, chocolate eyes wide as he put his arms up, palms out in surrender, Hiro rocking incessantly against his back. "He's not— I don't think he—"

Yama shoved him out of the way, meaty hands grabbing his upper arms and literally hurling him from the bed, his body colliding painfully against the couch's edge even as he tried to regain his footing. He watched in horror as Yama grabbed Hiro in much the same way, lifting him— and he certainly wasn't rocking now, his doe brown eyes wide, his mouth open to let out a shriek— and throwing his body even further, his scrawny frame hitting the floor before he was scrambling upright.

Tadashi tried to move forward, but Yama was closer and he was already pulling Hiro up by his arms and forcing him against the wall. "What the hell did you do," the man screamed, shaking him violently.

Tadashi could hear his head banging against the wall, his eyes wide and undeniably terrified, his chest heaving up and down as he tried so hard to breathe. "I— I didn't do anything. I swear! I didn't!"

"I don't believe you!" Yama threw him farther back into the room. And Tadashi barely managed to catch him, arms outstretched as they tumbled to the floor, a sickening crunch echoing against his frame as Hiro's head collided with his collarbone.

Doe brown eyes looked at him for the barest of moments before Tadashi was pushing the boy off of him, kicking his legs against the carpet and forcefully shoving Hiro behind him as Yama came closer. He barely managed to stand before Yama was upon them, pushing him back against the wall and reaching for Hiro again, his face contorted and angry.

But Tadashi wasn't going to let that happen. Because he had no idea what he was doing or what was happening, but he knew that Yama was going to _kill _Hiro. If he let him touch him again, he wasn't going to make it. And he couldn't let that happen.

Tadashi pulled his arm back and thrust it forward with as much power as he could muster, his fist colliding with Yama's side, managing to knock him back a step or two— just enough for Tadashi to dive at him, arms outstretched in an attempt to hold him in place as they crashed onto the bed.

And then Yama was yelling obscenities at him, arms pulling at his clothes, at him, but he held fast, eyes focused on Hiro, who had somehow managed to wedge himself between the bed and the wall, his chest heaving up and down. That was good. Breathing was good.

"Hiro," he cried, gritting his teeth as Yama managed to roll them, his legs coming up to kick at the man's hulking frame. He caught a glimpse of the hallway beyond the door as they moved along the bed's mattress and his heart leapt into his throat. "Run! The door's open!"

Hiro glanced between him and the door, bringing one of his hands up to pull at his hair, eyes wide and pupils dilated. "I can't leave y—"

"Hiro!" Tadashi cut him off, voice angry and panting from exertion because Yama was heavy and he wasn't going to be able to hold him very long and— he needed Hiro to get _out_. "Run! Run, now!"

The panic in his voice must have convinced him, because seconds later Hiro was pulling himself away from the wall, jumping onto the bed because that was the only way out of the corner. But it wasn't fast enough because Yama threw Tadashi off, his body thumping against the bathroom door, the back of his head cracking against the wall painfully. Immediately, he could feel blood begin to dribble down his neck, his vision beginning to blacken.

He could only watch in horror as Yama grabbed Hiro's ankle as he tried to cross the bed, his entire body falling forward as Yama yanked on it, sending him careening to the ground with a sickening thud. The scream that followed had Tadashi trying to stand again, his movements unstable as he leaned against the wall.

Yama just laughed, righting himself and advancing forward before grabbing Hiro by his arm and hauling him upright. The boy stopped screaming when Yama shook him— and Tadashi felt himself go pale because his bone was sticking out of his arm and— _oh god, oh god, oh god_— there was blood cascading onto the carpet. "I thought you'd learned your lesson," Yama sneered, grabbing at Hiro's face with his hand, squeezing his sharp little chin between his fingers, "but you didn't. You never do!"

The meaty hands holding Hiro up pulled away, letting him fall to the ground in a heap. And Tadashi needed to get closer to him because his face was beginning to turn blue like he couldn't breathe and his arm was— there was so much _blood_. "I told you what would happen if you tried to escape, didn't I," Yama continued, kicking Hiro into the wall with his foot. "But you just didn't listen!"

Yama let out a sigh, like he was lecturing a child as he pulled a knife from his pocket, waving it in front of Hiro's face. The boy's eyes widened, glancing at him and then back at Yama, panic clear in the tenseness of his shoulders, the pull at his cheeks. "No, I— I— _please_. I swear I didn't— she didn't see— I didn't—," Hiro sobbed, frantically grabbing at Yama's foot with his good hand.

The man just kicked him off, lazily turning toward Tadashi. And Tadashi felt himself stagger as he moved a little closer— because he needed Hiro to _run_— and Yama focusing his attention on him was the best chance Hiro had at escaping.

But he didn't seem to be taking it because he was just staring in horror as Yama rounded on him, the knife positioned so carefully in his hand. "I told you that I was going to cut him into itsy bitsy pieces, didn't I, Hiro? You know I'm a man of my word."

Tadashi started, his hand bracing his weight against the wall, blood dripping down his neck. He hadn't thought of that— of the threat that Yama had thrown at him over a month ago. The idea of dying here had stopped occurring to him after the first couple of days, but now it was here, staring him in the face. It was all too real.

And somehow, he didn't really care what happened to him because _damn it, _he was going to do _something._

"Hiro," he tried, voice wavering as Yama drew closer. He locked their eyes— doe brown with heavy russet— and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could do this. _He could do this_. "The door's open. You need to run."

The knife dug into his gut and he doubled over to the sound of Yama's laughter as he hit the ground, his vision swimming. Yama descended upon him, driving the blade into his stomach, watching in fascination as Tadashi began to cough, curling in on himself. It hurt. It hurt. _It hurt_.

He squinted against the pain, sighing in relief at the lone puddle of blood on the floor behind Yama's hulking frame. Hiro wasn't there. That meant he had left. And that was good. That was the best thing he could hope for.

The knife came up to his face then, tapping against his chin. "You know," Yama started, tone somewhere between maniacal and labored, "I had really hoped this little charade would last a little longer. Damn brat brought in more money than I'd ever even _dreamed_."

Tadashi gritted his teeth, blood boiling in his veins. And he acted on instinct, kicking the man between his legs and rounding on him as he faltered in his movements, the knife going back and forth between them before Tadashi had it in his hand, the blade cutting into his palm as he chunked it under the bed, where neither of them could reach.

Yama let out a roar, pressing against the gaping wounds on Tadashi's stomach, laughing when Tadashi's eyes closed, his body curling in on itself even as he struggled to stay put, to ignore the pain because Hiro was safe for now but he was going to need someone to stop the bleeding at his arm and he— he didn't want to die in this place. Weakly, he pounded against the man's chest, exhaustion working its way into his burning muscles, his throbbing head begging him to stop, stop, _**stop**_— _just let go_.

But then Yama was reaching into his pockets again, this time pulling out the gun he had held to his head so many days ago— and eyes widening, Tadashi used the last of his strength to wrestle it out of his hands, the weapon sliding across the floor before stopping just out of either of their reach.

Tadashi gulped, staring into Yama's beady black eyes before they both made a break for it, crawling over each other, scrambling toward the weapon. And Tadashi could almost grasp it, almost touch the metal handle when Yama began pulling at his waist— and the world started to go black as his wounds were ground into the carpet, as those meaty hands grabbed at him. So close, so close, so close.

Not close enough.

Calloused little fingers swiped the gun from in front of his outstretched hand. The sound of a gunshot echoed against the walls as blood burst from the figure on the floor.

The world stopped spinning.

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ _**I'm sorry**_."

And started again.

* * *

**Searching: **_**Day 1**_

* * *

"_We're all clear over— oh, god… We're going to need a medic down here! Hey, hey, what's your name, kid? Can you hear me? Hey, come on, I need—"_

"_Not me. H—him first. You've got to get him first."_

"_Kid, kid— you've gotta stop fighting me. You're __**bleeding**__. We're going to get you out of here, okay? We're gonna—"_

"_Him __**first**__. Please, please— I— it's my fault. My fault. You have to get him first."_

"_It's okay, it's okay. The medics are on their way. They'll get him. And I'll get you, okay?"_

"_No, no, __**no**__. You have to get him first. Tadashi first."_

"_Kid, you __**need**__ to calm down. See, there they are— the medics are getting him. They've got him. They've got him."_

"_I'm so sorry— if I— my fault. My fault. __**My fault**__. I didn't— I swear I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to."_

"_Shit— can I get some help over here? Kid, you've got to calm down. Everything's gonna be alright now. Okay? Everything gonna be alright."_

* * *

**Waiting: **_**Day 813**_

* * *

"That's it. I'm replacing you, you old— baah! You're useless!"

Cassandra scowled, her dark green eyes narrowing as she rubbed her newly acquired burn against her apron, her undamaged hand coming up to fiddle with the knobs. Stupid oven. Stupid old oven that took ages to boil water and light years to bake cookies and casserole and pie— and any number of the things that she served downstairs. She'd been meaning to replace the old thing for years now, but she just hadn't gotten around to it before… before Hiro had disappeared. And she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it after he'd left because she'd wanted everything to be the same for him when he came home, because he didn't do well with change and she didn't want to upset him and—

Nope. Not anymore. The stupid old thing had to go.

Hiro probably wouldn't even notice.

She sighed at the thought, quirking her mouth a bit to the side as she glanced at the clock on the wall— the one that Hiro had bought her for her birthday one year when he was little because it was shaped like a cat and _Look, look, the tail moves!_ It was only four o'clock. Four in the morning and here she was, fighting with her oven in an attempt to do some baking hours before she needed to, exhausted because she hadn't had a proper night's sleep in what felt like years now.

Because she had grown used to falling asleep to the pitter-pattering of little feet above her head, to the blaring music that she didn't listen to, to the ridiculous old movies that had laughter ringing through the house at all hours of the night. And none of that was here now. There was no teenage boy running around in his room, playing his music too loudly, or surfing the web for old sci-fi movies because _the science is just __**so**__ bad! _

It was just her now. Her and her cat. Her and her empty house.

Cassandra scrunched up her nose, backing away from the oven to run her hands through her hair in frustration. She used to tell him how much she looked forward to him growing up, to having her house back to herself again. It was all in jest, just a joke that had him laughing and sassing back at her with something ridiculous about how much she would miss him because she must have forgotten how to live without him and— god, he was so _right_. And she just couldn't do this anymore.

She couldn't keep pretending like everything was fine during the day when her employees were bustling around downstairs and her patrons were begging her for her breakfast bread recipe only to have it all crop back up when they'd gone home for the day, when she'd shutdown for the night and realized just how _empty_ everything was. Because she always made too much food for dinner and no one came rushing down the stairs when she called. Because she made comments about this and that and no one ever responded. Because the stupid group therapy sessions that the police officers had recommended hadn't _worked_ and she was falling apart to the sound of silence in her own home.

And it was the little things that always got her. She'd learned to grin and bear the big things— the empty attic space that was just as messy as Hiro had left it, the garage that was half stuffed with tools and robot parts that she'd begged and begged him to clean up. But the little things, like the way the soap sometimes reminded her of the way he smelled right after a shower or the way the doodles she'd found on the wall under the table that must have been over a decade old reminded her of the little boy that didn't know why his mommy and daddy hadn't come back to get him— those were the ones that always got her.

Those were the ones that always had her curled up against the wall in tears for hours, hiccupping and sobbing because her heart was twisted into bits and she didn't know how to fix it. Because she didn't know how to get over the absence of the little boy that used to pull on her apron when he was scared, the teenager that tried making her breakfast for Mother's Day and always ended up burning half of it and barely cooking the other half. She didn't thi—

The sound of glass breaking had her shaking herself out of her reverie, her head twisting to the side to see the bowl of cookie batter that she'd made in pieces on the kitchen floor. Mochi meowed at her innocently before jumping down from the counter with a flick in her stumpy tail, her small pink tongue coming out to slowly begin licking at the fallen batter. Cassandra laughed, cocking her hip to the side.

At least some things never changed.

"You're lucky I like you," she told the Japanese bobtail as she crouched down to the floor, running her fingernails down Mochi's furry back with one hand and gathering the fallen glass with the other. The cat purred at her, but continued licking at the mess stretched across the hardwood.

Carefully, Cassandra lifted the glass into her arms— only big pieces, thankfully, and that was one of her favorite mixing bowls too— and threw it into the trashcan under the sink. She raised one of her thin brown eyebrows at the cat, "You're going to get sick, you know— and don't blame me when we go to the vet next week and they put you on a diet again."

Mochi tilted her head to the side, meowing at her with innocent brown eyes before going back to her treat.

She huffed, crossing her arms with a little shake of her head. "Fine, fine. I warned you. Don't complain wh—," she cut herself off, the sound of the phone ringing causing her brows to furrow and her eyes to redirect themselves back to the clock on the wall. It wasn't even four fifteen yet.

_I wonder who that could be_, she thought, stepping over her gluttonous cat and making her way into the living room, the TV playing some monster movie in the background. She quirked her mouth to the side, pulling the receiver off the hook and bringing it to her ear. She just hoped none of her employees were calling in sick; that was always a nightmare. "Hello?"

Static buzzed through the line. A middle-aged female's voice came through, "_Hello. Is this the Lucky Cat Café?_"

"Yes," she answered hesitantly, "but we're not open yet. We open at six."

"_This is the San Fransokyo General Hospital_," the voice on the other line stated blandly. "_We have a patient by the name of Hiro Takachiho that was brought in by emergency services a couple of hours ago. We were given this number to contact his legal guardian._"

She felt her blood run cold, the receiver dropping from her hand and crashing to the floor. Hiro, Hiro, _Hiro_. Mochi bumped against her legs and she felt herself jumpstart, her fingers instantly scrambling for the receiver, her heart hammering in her chest. "That's me, that's me. I'm his guardian," she panted in a rush, her hands shaking, her fingers curling around the telephone resting in her palm.

"_He is currently being held in the emergency ward with a compound fracture of his arm and a mild concussion. However, all children below the age of eighteen are required to have a legal guardian present at all times. We—_"

Cassandra cut her off, "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

She slammed the receiver back onto its hook, unwinding Mochi from her legs as gently as she could with the adrenaline pulsing through her veins, twisting a knot into her chest. Hiro— he was in the hospital. She was going to see him in the hospital. After over two years of waiting for him to come home, of sitting in her empty house—

He was still alive.

And he was waiting for her now.

She snatched her purse from the coffee table, throwing it over her shoulder and thundering down the stairs, ignoring the way she slipped in the cookie dough on the floor, the way her fingers shook as she tried to lock the door to her living space without shutting her employees out of the café downstairs.

_Empty, empty, empty_, the house bellowed at her back as she scrambled into her car, her pajama bottoms catching a bit on her slippers as she tried to put the key in the ignition.

"Not anymore," she responded. _Not anymore._

* * *

**Waiting: **_**Day 51**_

* * *

"Tadashi Hamada? He's in room 215— but only relatives are allowed in outside of visiting hours. I'm sorry, but you'll have to come back in a few hours. Visitation starts at eleven."

Wasabi smiled at the receptionist, tightening his fingers around the baseball cap in his hands— because he'd been in the lab when he'd received the call and it only seemed right to grab it on his way out, to return it to its owner; Tadashi loved it. It was the least he could do. "Tadashi," he cleared his throat awkwardly; the receptionist's blue eyes narrowed, "He doesn't have any family. They died a few years ago. I'm his emergency contact now."

The receptionist blinked at him, her bubble gum pink lips shifting into a little 'o' as she switched her gaze to her computer screen, tip-tapping on the keys in front of her as if she was in search of something. Wasabi shifted his weight from one side to the other, his ankles pivoting a bit as he took in the way the early morning light was just beginning to breach the windows, to reflect off the white tiles and blank walls to illuminate the hospital's lobby with the promise of a new day.

"Oh, I see," the receptionist mumbled, eyeing her monitor and then turning back to him with a wide smile. "You should be fine to go see him. You'll just need a visitor's pass." She grabbed a yellow slip off her desk, twirling a black sharpie between her fingers before scribbling his name across the front in big, bubbly letters.

He squirmed a bit as he grabbed it, imagining the germs clinging to its surface as he peeled the sticker off of its cover and carefully placed it over his chest with one hand— _keep it straight, keep it straight_. The receptionist was looking at him oddly as he finished; Wasabi felt himself blush under the pressure of her stare, fingers tightening uncomfortably against the baseball cap in his hands.

"Thanks," he mumbled as he backed away. He noticed her quirk an eyebrow at him as he turned the corner, but he shook it off, concentrating on the light streaming in through the windows, at the hat in his hand as he made his way to the elevator. He steeled himself when it dinged, the doors sliding open and letting him in, only to deposit him on the second floor moments later.

Wasabi swallowed as he stepped out, hesitant steps pushing him forward until he reached the door to room 215. He stopped in front of it, terror freezing in his veins. Because he didn't know what was beyond the door. He was Tadashi's emergency contact, so he was the one that the hospital staff had called— but they hadn't told him anything. Just that he was in an accident, that there were stitches and head trauma involved.

They hadn't told him where he had been all this time. They hadn't told him if he was the same Tadashi that had left all those days ago.

When he'd received the call, bent over his lasers in the lab at four thirty in the morning because his project was due _right now_ and he wasn't anywhere near _done_, he had just frozen, listening to the words pressing against his ear through the telephone line. Tadashi was in the hospital, they had said.

And he'd just dropped everything and come running. The others weren't around when the call had come through and he hadn't contacted them yet— too afraid that this was just a false alarm. That the person on the other side of the door wasn't actually Tadashi and that he would be leaving disappointed and heartbroken all over again. Because his best friend was still gone.

He sighed at the thought, shaking his head as if to clear it, his dreadlocks bumping against his neck. His fingers tensed around the baseball cap as his free hand turned the handle on the door, swinging it open gently. And the room was almost eerie in the way that hospital spaces tended to be with the one bed pushed to the side, the early morning light just barely drifting in to make shadows dance across the walls.

But the TV was buzzing on its perch and Tadashi was sitting up and smiling at him, an IV hooked into his arm, all short black hair and chocolate brown eyes, and that was all the encouragement Wasabi needed to waltz into the room, an invisible weight lifting off of his shoulders— because it hadn't been a false alarm, because this was Tadashi and he was _back _and _alive_ and _okay_.

He stopped by his bed, hands locked at his sides, his fingers jittering nervously against his dark jeans because the elation pulling at his chest didn't tell him what he was supposed to do next. And for the first time, Wasabi wasn't sure what to do around Tadashi. Their friendship had been quick and easy. They had bonded over robotics and order, over their mutual teachers and love of technology. In just a few short weeks during freshman year, Tadashi had become his rock, his voice of reason in the midst of all the chaos. And he'd been that way even when his parents had died, when his world had started falling apart.

Tadashi was always Tadashi. Strong and reliable— secure and reasonable.

Frail and pale, with thick stubble littering his chin, with dark circles under his eyes and stress lines pulled across his forehead.

At least his smile was the same.

"I brought you this," Wasabi finally said into the silence, holding out his cap like some sort of peace offering, his fingers shaking against its rim.

To his surprise, Tadashi laughed— and the sound was just as full of mirth as he remembered it being. "Thanks," he said, taking the worn hat and flipping it over the bandages on his head, the brim of it covering up the evident stress on his forehead. "I've been missing this. It's been awhile."

Wasabi swallowed, "Yeah. It's been awhile."

And there must have been something in his voice because Tadashi's eyes narrowed just slightly in concern, his fingers tugging a bit at his blankets as he moved to sit up a little straighter. "I bet there's no making up this semester now, huh? I'm definitely going to fail."

His chest tightened around his lungs. "I think— you'll have to make it up over the summer," he pressed his palms into the sheets, "That'll be the only way to get back— back on track."

Silence stretched between them, long and thick. And Wasabi wished that he was someone else, someone braver like GoGo or someone more compassionate like Honey Lemon. Maybe even someone more enthusiastic like Fred— just with a higher standard of personal hygiene and motivation— because he didn't know what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to say when there were a million thoughts running through his head all at once, but none of them would slow down long enough for him to mold them into words.

But Tadashi did what he always did; he made everything easy and broke the silence all on his own.

With a little sigh, Tadashi stretched against the sheets, wincing only slightly as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. "Can you grab the wheelchair," he asked, tilting his head to indicate the object nestled in the corner.

Wasabi raised an eyebrow, fingers twisting against the hospital mattress. "You shouldn't be getting up. You're hurt."

Tadashi just looked at him with that trademark smile stretched across his lips. "It's fine," he assured him. "I'm fine— really. I was stabbed—" Wasabi sucked in his breath "—but I'm okay. The doctors said they weren't _that_ deep and my head doesn't even hurt with the pain medication and—," he cut himself off, shrugging his shoulders like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Because Tadashi just _went_ with things. He was always quick to worry about someone else, to mother them and coddle them, but whenever it came to him, he always brushed everything off. He was always _fine_. He was always _okay_.

He was always Tadashi.

And that was great— most of the time, when he truly was fine and he really had everything under control. But sitting at the edge of the hospital bed with his gown revealing the notches in his spine and the bandages spiraled around his frame, he didn't look _fine_ and he wasn't in control. He looked like he was breaking into pieces, his façade of normalcy just barely held in place.

Gently, Wasabi pressed his shaking fingers against Tadashi's shoulders— _has he always been so boney?_— and pushed him back onto the bed. Tadashi raised an eyebrow at him, the facial feature disappearing under the brim of his hat as he looked at him in something like amusement— or maybe it was surprise twinkling in his eyes. Wasabi didn't know. "No," he said firmly. "You need to stay in bed. Until you're recovered."

Tadashi lifted himself up, his legs still hanging over the bed, his bare toes just barely touching the cool tile. "Really, Wasabi. I'm fine— I—"

"No," he said again, running his hand through his dreadlocks, willing himself not to panic— because this was his best friend and he wasn't fine like he said he was and Wasabi didn't know what to do about it— and trying to mask the hurt that caused his lungs to constrict and his breath to catch in his throat. Because Tadashi was _lying_ to him and Wasabi was his _friend_ damn it; he deserved more than a lie. "You were _stabbed_, Tadashi! Do you have any idea how much _worse_ this could have been? You've been gone for nearly two _months_— and you say you're fine? That everything's okay? No way. I'm not buying it."

And Tadashi's façade seemed to crumble, his face falling, his fingers pulling at the sheets beneath his hands. "I…," he started, opening his mouth and then closing it again, a thick silence passing between them once again.

Wasabi felt himself deflate, his bulky frame caving in on itself as he leaned down, his dark brown orbs taking in the way Tadashi's mouth pressed firmly into a thin line, the way his eyes were looking down at his lap. "What happened over the last two months, Tadashi? Where were you?"

Tadashi sighed, one hand coming up to pull the brim of his cap down over his eyes. "I was in a room," he said at length. "There was a boy there and— he's in the hospital now." Russet brown eyes bore into him, his voice soft like a whisper but steady and urgent, like he was pleading with him, "I've asked the nurses to let me see him or— or tell me how he's doing, but they keep saying they'll find out for me and then they don't come back. And I just—," he made a frustrated noise, "I just want to see if he's okay."

Wasabi swallowed heavily at his tone, at the pleading request in his voice for him to help him find this boy that he'd apparently been with while he was away. Wearily, he glanced at the wheelchair in the corner of the room, biting at his lower lip. He shouldn't help Tadashi leave his room. There was probably a reason the nurses weren't telling him— and what if someone came looking for Tadashi while they were gone? He could have his visitation rights revoked and it was against the _rules_ and— maybe it would help Tadashi truly be fine again.

He sighed at the thought, knowing he was defeated. "Okay," he said— and _god_, the way Tadashi lit up at him. "Do you know which room he's in?"

"227," he said in a rush, like he was afraid that Wasabi was going to change his mind.

But he didn't. Instead, he grabbed the wheelchair from the corner of the room and stretched it out in front of the bed. He helped Tadashi into it with precise fingers, flinching at the way his best friend winced as he moved. Carefully, they maneuvered the IV stand to the side of the chair, the needle still sticking out of Tadashi's hand, and the two of them made their way out of the room, with Wasabi pushing the wheelchair and Tadashi hanging on to the IV stand as it rolled along beside them.

As soon as they passed the threshold into the hallway, Wasabi expected a nurse to notice them. He expected someone to scold him for taking an _obviously_ sick person away from his room, for breaking hospital rules. But no one did. No one looked at them as he pushed his friend down the hall. No one yelled at him as they passed by closed doors, as they wheeled beyond the glass wall revealing downtown San Fransokyo and slipped down a wide hallway in the corner.

Wasabi slowed as they came to the only open door in the corridor— door 227, where a pretty woman that he vaguely recognized was sobbing into a frail-looking boy's chest as he clutched at her shirt with what looked to be a broken arm.

Big brown eyes glanced at them over the woman's shoulder— and they were red-rimmed and sad, but the boy smiled.

He smiled at them and Tadashi smiled back.

And Wasabi— because he didn't know what to do or what to say— just tightened his hold on the back of the wheelchair and watched the way his best friend's eyes lit up, the way he straightened in his chair and all the stress on his face disappeared.

Because Tadashi was truly fine now.

And maybe his best friend would turn out okay.

* * *

**Home: **_**Day 18**_

* * *

_I can do this._

He tried to smile, blinking at himself in the mirror, his calloused fingers knotting around the fabric of his pullover, a bitter ache running up his right arm from the break that hadn't healed yet and wouldn't for quite some time. His hair was a mess, pushed up this way and that, and his eyes were wide and bloodshot from lack of sleep— because he'd spent the past couple of nights twisting and turning in his bed, unable to close his eyes from either terror or excitement.

He wasn't quite sure which.

But with the way his breath kept catching in his throat and his heart kept hammering away in his chest, he was beginning to think that it was the former of the two, because Tadashi was planning on taking him to his school today— to San Fransokyo Institute of Technology— to see his lab and meet his friends and Hiro didn't know if he could handle it. There would be so many people around and he was awkward at his best in the café and _terrified_ at his worst and— what if they didn't like him?

What if they blamed him for Tadashi disappearing for so long, for him getting hurt? For Yama pushing the knife into his stomach and laughing and— it was his fault. Everything was his fault. If he hadn't tried to kill himself, then Tadashi would have never been brought to the room. If he hadn't looked out the window, Yama would have never gotten mad and Tadashi would have never gotten hurt.

None of this would have ever happened.

He sighed at himself, running his trembling fingers down the side of his face, shaking his head. Tadashi didn't like it when he thought this way. He hadn't accepted his apologies at the hospital— or afterwards, when they were alone in his room and he'd tried so _hard_ to make him understand that he hadn't meant for this to happen, for him to get _hurt_. But Tadashi hadn't understood— and instead of yelling or cursing or getting _angry_, he had pulled him against his chest and whispered in his ear.

That none of this was his fault. That he had gotten them out. That Yama's blood staining his hands had saved his life.

And somehow, that had calmed him down and frozen everything else he'd wanted to say in his throat, because Tadashi made him feel _safe_, like everything was going to be okay, like _he _was going to be okay.

Hiro bit his bottom lip at the thought, the ghost of a genuine smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Doe brown orbs blinked at his figure in the mirror and he watched himself turn, taking in the oversized blue jacket draped over his shoulders, the gaunt way his skin stretched over his cheekbones, his face only just beginning to regain its rounder form now that he was home and eating again— less than he used to, but his Aunt Cass seemed more than pleased. The dark jeans fastened at his hips were a little baggy, but the hem only just barely touched the ground and the stiff fabric didn't scratch his legs.

He looked normal enough.

Hiro just hoped he could fool everyone else into thinking he actually _was_.

He scoffed a bit, narrowing his eyes at his reflection— only to jump as a knock echoed against the bathroom door, his aunt's voice instantly calming his nerves. God, he'd _missed_ her. "Tadashi's waiting out back."

"Okay," he replied, his voice a little shaky as he opened the door.

His aunt stood just to the side, smiling at him with her big green eyes, worry lines obvious with the way her mouth curled, the way her nose scrunched just slightly. She gazed at him, taking in the way his hands shook, the way he shuffled uncomfortably in his clothes. "You don't have to go today if— if you don't think you're ready for it," she said quietly. "I'm sure Tadashi would understand if you wanted to put it off for a few more days."

And Hiro knew this was just as hard for her as it was for him. She'd barely let him out of her sight since he'd come back, and having him leave with a boy that she liked but didn't really _know_ probably horrified her. But he couldn't stay locked away inside the café forever. He needed to get out into the world again.

He needed to be normal again.

"No," he shook his head, sucking in a breath, "I need to go today. I— I promised I would."

His tone must have convinced her because a second later he felt her arms around him, her dainty fingers gripping the back of his shirt, the smell of fresh baked pastries tickling his nose. "I know," she mumbled into his ear as she pulled away, those dark green eyes of hers looking right at him. "Just be safe, okay?"

Hiro nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I will."

And then he disappeared down the stairs, his trainers thump, thump, thumping against the wooden floor as he made his way to the second story's side entrance, the one that led to the back of the house and avoided the crowded café. "I can do this," he repeated to himself as he opened the door, the chilly March air filling his lungs, the sun beating brightly against the building's steps as he clamored down to the ground.

Tadashi smiled at him warmly as soon he saw him, his russet eyes lighting up. "Good morning," he called. "Are you ready to go?"

Hiro pushed the toe of his shoe into the ground, watching the dirt come up around it. _Breathe, breathe, breathe_, he told himself. "Yeah."

And if his voice came out shaky, Tadashi didn't comment on it. Instead, he silently led the way to the crowded sidewalk at the front of the café, where people were bustling this way and that and— he could feel his lungs begin to constrict, his fingers begin to shake because he wasn't very good with people and what if they _knew_? What if they knew about the unwanted touches and the man he had killed and—

He felt the older boy's fingers interlace with his own, those chocolate colored eyes gazing at him, and all of his thoughts seemed to melt away. Because Tadashi was _safe_ and _he could do this_.

Carefully, Tadashi pulled him onto the sidewalk by his hand and began to walk, gently tugging him along through the throng of people. Hiro felt himself tense as he was jostled to the side, as the café left his field of vision. He tightened his grip when they turned the corner and again when they crossed the street. But Tadashi just kept moving.

And Hiro kept his eyes focused on their joined hands, on the way his calloused fingers fit so well against Tadashi's own, the older boy's thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin. He smiled at the older boy's back.

Yeah.

He was going to be just fine.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

**1\. The opening scene is a flashback, but it also corresponds with the movie. All of the actions that take place before the star are in the bot fighting scene at the beginning of the movie. However, all of the internal bits were me. Also, Yama's way darker in this than his movie persona.  
**

**2\. I attempted to add in some character back stories by way of dialogue in section two because they do have them. Unfortunately, I'm awful at dialogue and I did kind of a shitty job of it.  
**

**3\. I have discovered that I have a habit of repeating words three times.  
**

**4\. In my head, GoGo would get angry before she would get upset. Also, Tadashi being in the citywide newspaper is what ended up getting him kidnapped. Not that that would ever actually happen because I doubt that Yama reads the newspaper; yay for plot holes?  
**

**5\. That is the worst 911 operator ever.  
**

**6\. Wasabi somehow ended up everywhere in this story, when he originally wasn't going to be in it at all. (He's with Honey Lemon in the cafe in the first chapter, with GoGo in this chapter, and then he gets his own scene with Tadashi at the end).  
**

**7\. And this is the end. I didn't plan for this to turn out nearly as long as it did (the entire thing was actually based around the bathtub scene in the last chapter), but I'm happy I managed to finish it. Hope you enjoyed.  
**

**Production: Currently unknown. I'm pretty excited about a new chapter story with these two, but I won't be posting it until I'm nearly done with the writing stages (I haven't even finished planning it yet). Here's to hoping I have something out in the next couple of months.  
**

**Reviews are welcomed and responded to. I haven't written anything in a while, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. **


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